


Tale As Old As Time, Song As Old As Rhyme

by Ajayd



Series: A Spider in the Pool [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Also Lots of Talking, Angst with a Happy Ending, But it's Deadpool, Character Study, Cultural References, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Disturbing thoughts, Erotica, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kink Exploration, M/M, Mild Kink, POV Alternating, Relationship Negotiation, Slow Build, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5734492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajayd/pseuds/Ajayd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker gradually falls for Wade's dubious charms. They have a lot of hang ups and kinks to negotiate, but with sex this hot, Peter can't help wanting more. Erotica with significant plot and relationship development.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Lots of disturbing thoughts and references, cuz it's Deadpool, but actual sex is only mildly kinky. PLEASE REVIEW!

CHAPTER ONE

Spiderman watched from the night shadows as Osborn turned and moved purposely in his direction. Long strides took him past the interloper’s enclave and out of the distinctly immoderate office. 

When the sound of footsteps had faded to nothing, a masked Peter Parker shifted out of the shadows, muttering bitterly to himself, “If only my apartment was half as large as this monstrosity.”

Not only did the room take up most of the top floor of Oscorp Tower, but it was decorated in an expensive, gaudy Baroque style. There was a huge, ornate wooden desk, as well as a meeting table, with hand crafted vines along the legs. An overweighted chandelier hung over the table, flanked on each wall by two decorative frames, one with heavy mirror and the other with a large oil painting. Spiderman took a moment to look at the latter: a darkly colored portrait of a Norman Osborn, complete with threatening aura and expression of condescension. 

A loud, animated voice interrupted his observation, “Now that is a crime against good taste if I’ve ever seen one!” 

Spiderman spun around, adrenaline spiking at the unwelcome novelty of someone actually being able to sneak up on him. 

“Deadpool.” That did explain the sneaking. The merc could move with surprisingly subtlety considering his size and motor mouth; even Peter’s spider sense rarely picked him up. This was not, unfortunately, the first time Spiderman had run into him in the last few months. The costumed menace had popped up several times while he patrolled the City, seemingly at random, and with only the flimsiest of excuses. 

Deadpool pranced through the door that Osborn had left through mere moments before, decked from head to toe in red and black leather. Then he did a little twirl and bowed low, “The one and only. Howdy, Spidey!”

“SHHH!” Spiderman hushed, unnerved at the other man’s presence and volume. He quickly went to Osborn’s desk, determined to do what he had set out to do before the situation inevitably blew up in his face. Entropic decay tended to speed up in Deadpool’s presence, and the outcome was usually everything turning to shit. Spiderman plugged a USB drive into the desk computer, and then quickly and systematically began searching the drawers. 

“So whatcha doin’?” Deadpool sing-songed, voice so close behind him that Spiderman had to quash the impulse to rear back and head butt him. 

“Getting some dirt on Oscorp. What’s it look like?” he answered with irritation. His mission was a little more specific than that, but he certainly wouldn’t be sharing with the unhinged mercenary. 

“From my pee oh vee? Looks like you’re playing Shadow Dancer in full spandex, actually. Your ass looks awesome, bee tee double-yuh.” 

Spiderman flipped through a couple of files he had found, ignoring the large creep for a moment. The info would probably be transferred to the USB drive, but just in case he pulled out a miniature camera from his backpack and took pictures of the hard copy. When he looked over, he saw Deadpool dismounting a small frame from the wall behind the great desk, where they both apparently knew Osborn’s personal safe was located. “What’re you doing here?”

Deadpool cocked his head slightly to the right, suspiciously still and quiet for a moment before mumbling, “Shut up, I can’t tell him that.” Then, louder, “Acquiring some personal spending money? It’s hard out there for a pimp.” He punctuates the word hard with a little thrust of his hips. “There’s not too many people with a shit ton of cold hard cash on hand these days. No one keeps it liquid anymore.” 

Spiderman replaced the file carefully in its drawer, mind extrapolating the logical next step, “No one but the bad guys.”

He retrieved his drive, and as he put it away in his backpack with the miniature camera. As he looked up, he saw Deadpool draw a small explosive block from out of a pouch on his belt, at the same time that his enhanced hearing picked up the faint sound of voices from outside the room. Borderline panic triggered Spiderman into action, immediately seizing the painting and replacing it on the wall.

“Excusez -moi?” Deadpool drawled in exaggerated French. Spiderman quickly spun towards him and grabbed his wrist in a confident grip, using his shorter stature to bodily herd the red and black bulk of muscles. 

“Whahhh…?” Deadpool practically stumbled backwards, but went with the manhandling. “While I really like where this is going –”

His back hit the wall next to a door, which Spiderman speedily opened and then shoved his companion through. Then he turned halfway and sidestepped inside, drawing the door closed behind them and trapping their bodies against each other. The supply closet made for very close quarters, and Spidey’s entire side nestled into Deadpool’s bulk. “Again, I like where –”

“Sh!” Spiderman hushed, short and sharp. He barely had time to note the sculpted pecs pressed against his shoulder, and the hard thighs on either side of his hip, before Norman Osborn and some unknown flunky walked in. He could feel Deadpool tense against him.

“. . . weakness in their field testing. I won’t tolerate such a staggering amount of incompetence. You can call the Tokyo office back and tell them I said that.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure that will improve the situation.”

“I detect sarcasm, Thompson. Better up your ass kissing credibility if you want to make it any higher in this company.” Osborn sat down at his desk, while Thompson sat across the desk from him. They verbally sparred for a moment more before Osborn dove back into the details of the situation with the Tokyo office. Apparently, field testing the experimental nerve gas was a must, which already sounded dubious. Spiderman followed the situation with interest, but Deadpool’s attention soon drifted and he started squirming like the world’s biggest toddler. 

Peter ignored the casual brush and bump of chest and thighs, intent on picking up as much as possible from Osborn’s conversation; but when thick fingers ghosted over his back and stomach, he snapped his head towards Deadpool and hissed just audibly, “Stop!” 

They were so close that Deadpool only had to bend his neck down and forward to touch his mouth space to the thin covering over Spiderman’s ear. Deadpool’s whisper was deep and gravelly, and Peter could feel the heat of his breath on his ear and neck. “No can do. As Yellow keeps pointing out, there’s a shelf digging into my ass. And another two trying to crucify me with my own katanas. If I don’t throw him a bone (heh heh, see what I did there?), he’s gonna insist on breaking something to make more room for us.”

Spiderman had fought alongside Deadpool twice before, and ran into him on patrol a handful of times more recently, but the other man’s speech and behavior had been so erratic and off putting that Peter hadn’t ever stuck around any longer than necessary. Was the dude talking to himself now or what? Would he even respond to a logical appeal? During a debrief with the Avengers, Wolverine had once called Deadpool “batshit crazy” and the Black Widow had described him as “unpredictable and mentally unstable, but surprising functional”. Spiderman could’ve lived without ever learning how the rough texture of Deadpool’s costume felt against the thin spandex stretched over his own body, and without ever sampling the pungent odor of sweat, blood, musk, and leather that now permeated the closet. 

“If you shut up, I’ll try to make more room,” Spiderman muttered. Without waiting for a response, he gripped one hand on the door and the other on Deadpool’s hard bicep, then he slowly pivoted towards the door, dragging spandex against leather until their bodies fit more comfortably back to front. This allowed additional breathing room, but now Spiderman couldn’t see the other man at all, and was increasingly aware of the very physical, looming presence that blanketed his back. With every breath, hard pecs pushed into along his shoulder blades; legs brushed against his, and what he could only imagine was a codpiece poked low on his spine. 

“Hmmm, much better, baby boy,” Deadpool murmured in his ear, cheeks brushing through their masks.

It was getting overly warm in the small space, and Peter struggled to pay attention to Osborn’s conversation as his senses kept diverting towards the growing tension in the closet. Peter felt a tingling of arousal, then a surge of disgust at himself. Sure, he hadn’t gotten laid since he and MJ had broken up six months ago, but that was no excuse for the current situation! Granted, Peter looked at guys from time to time, but the man behind him was an unhinged mercenary who never shut up, and whose face he had never even seen! Sure, Deadpool was tall and built, but he kinda smelled and Tony Stark had made several tasteless jokes about his repulsive skin. Berating himself didn’t help at all; despite a mind full of yeeeuck, Spiderman’s cock was stirring with life. When he felt thick fingers lightly brace his hips, he was forced to take action. 

“Stop with the squirming and touching,” he hissed, trying to elbow Deadpool in the stomach, but close quarters combined with the need for silence resulted in more of a prodding. 

Deadpool’s hands moved up to the door frame, which at least took them off Spidey, but also allowed him to lean more weight and surface area against the other man. His raspy voice whined, “But, Spidey, I haven’t been this close to a living body in ages. You’ve basically put a Jolly Rancher in my mouth and told me not to salivate. . . Yes, Whitey, I was talking about the candy, which is super delish, but you’re right, I’d love to salivate around some happy rancher’s dick too. . . We have a pretty big mouth, bet we could suck on both at the same time. That sounds yummy.”

“Oh my God,” Spiderman muttered in humiliated disbelief. How could Deadpool be so gross and crazy and weirdly sexy, all at the same time? None of this had been a problem when the asshole had kept his distance. Maybe his funk had some superpowered seductive properties? One could hope. “This cannot end soon enough.” 

There was a moment of silence in which Deadpool used the leverage from the door frame to peel his body off Spiderman’s and push back into the shelves. “Is this better, baby boy? I’m gonna get shelf-ass again in a minute, but surely these blowhards can’t keep it up much longer, amirite? I’m a bit of a blow hard myself, heh heh, if you catch my meanings.”

“How could I not? You’re basically the Terminator of bad come-ons, you don’t ever stop,” Spiderman sighed in defeat, leaning his forehead against the door. Outside, he could still hear Osborn and his flunky talk but he had lost track of the conversation. Deadpool was filling up every sense as completely as he filled up the small closet. 

“Except the Terminators are always eliminated in the end, while I can only hope for such a happy ending,” Deadpool rasped, sharp and serious for once, and Peter found himself hanging on to every word. “If you want, I can take care of the two out there, so you won’t be stuck in here with me. Believe me, I get the problemo, I’m hella tired of being stuck with me too. So whatever you want. I can off them, or tranq ‘em, or just distract them, whatever. I can blow up the whole floor, then tomorrow I’ll call the Bugle and claim responsibility. No one has to know Spiderman was here at all.”

“No,” Peter whispered firmly, shivering despite the warmth of the closet. “No violence, no killing, and definitely no explosions. We can get through this, no one will ever know either of us were here, and then I’m gonna take down Osborn fair and square. And we can both pretend that this seven minutes in heaven never happened.”

“It’s been more than seven minutes of heaven, Spidey.”

“I know. It feels like forever.”

“Aw, you say the sweetest things.” There was a beat of silence before Deadpool murmured near his ear, “Does that count as flirting?”

“Definitely not.”

“I was asking the boxes, but thanks for clarifying,” Deadpool whispered, actually sounding thankful. “I get confused a lot, so clarity is definitely good. . . I really like what you did with the Terminator thing bee tee double-yuh. I adore a good cultural reference.” Deadpool’s elbows relaxed slightly, allowing his body to again drape along Spiderman’s back, and bending his neck to rest his forehead against Spiderman’s tense shoulder. His next words were so quiet that only enhanced hearing allowed Peter to pick them up. “But not as much as I adore you.”

Spiderman was frozen in indecision. He didn’t want to encourage Deadpool, nor did he want to shatter what felt like a delicate moment, so all he could do was listen to the duet of their breathing and feel the sheer physicality of the other man. It took him several seconds to realize that the room on the other side of the door had fallen silent. 

“Thank God, they’re gone.” Spiderman opened the door and both men practically fell out of the closet, stumbling to stay on their feet. Spiderman straightened and was finally able to look at Deadpool. The merc was standing awkwardly, head tilted as he scratched his cheek with one hand, and rubbing his back with this other. He returned Spiderman’s scrutiny for a beat before freezing suddenly. 

“Now that definitely counts as flirting,” he muttered, quietly enough that Peter figured he was talking to himself again.  
Spiderman looked down briefly at the half-hard bulge in his suit, embarrassment and irritation crashing over him. Unlike Deadpool, he didn’t wear a codpiece. “Oh, shut up, you perv. It’s been a while for me too, so don’t read too much into it.”

“Sounds like there’s an obvious solution to our abstinence,” Deadpool suggested, grin evident in his voice. 

“No thanks.” Spiderman turned back towards the closet, retrieving his small pack before heading towards the balcony. “I got what I came for, I’m outta here.”

Deadpool followed him like a giant lost puppy. “Hey, could I get a ride to the ground? It’s a long way down.”

Spiderman was surprised that Deadpool would leave without the cash he apparently came for, but he was beginning to suspect that the merc had been crashing his party more than attempting any scheme of his own. Either way, he wasn’t going to remind him of his plan to blow open Osborn’s safe. “How’d you even get up here?”

Deadpool pointed to a zip line running from the roof of slightly taller, if only sorta close building. “Shit security over at Chase. But climbing up is so much boring than zipping down, and, like, a shit ton more work. I’d rather use the line to Tarzan as low as I can, then just drop and deal with the consequences.”

Spiderman was vaguely aware of Deadpool’s abilities, but the only healing he had ever witnessed was from bullets. He could only imagine that a drop from such a height as the Oscorp building would be pretty messy. Was he bluffing? “I’m sure that would be traumatizing for whoever found your shattered body.”

Deadpool shrugged, which ostensibly required his entire body to move. “It’s pretty late. I could probably walk away in fifteen, twenty minutes. It would take almost as long to climb the zip line and then get through Chase undetected. Or maybe I should just make a path through Oscorp, that’d actually be the fastest.”

Spiderman rolled his eyes under his mask. Apparently this nightmare wasn’t over yet. 

“Fine,” he replied petulantly, stepping up on the balcony and gesturing for Deadpool to join him. 

“Woo hoo!” Deadpool squealed in only a sorta manly way, quickly cutting the zip line before bounding up to Spiderman. “Piggy back or Princess Leia?”

“Princess Leia, definitely.” He’d had more than enough of the large merc plastered against his back, thank you very much. “Come on then.”

Deadpool folded his long arms around Spiderman, pulling them close, then Spiderman wrapped his left arm around Deadpool’s waist, careful of the katanas strapped to his back. He tried not to think about how trim and firm the body felt underneath the red leather. He eyed the Chase building, then used his free wrist to shoot a web line. “Here we go.”

A second later they were swinging down and Deadpool was laughing in his ear and singing loudly, “♪♬ I’m gonna flyyy like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dryyy. I’m gonna swiiing from the chandelieeer, from the chandelieeer! ♪♬ ”

Spiderman quickly transferred them to a shorter web line, a bit jerky because he only had one hand free, but succeeded in bringing them closer to the ground. Feeling a bit like an asshole, but not wanting to encouraged Deadpool any further, he waited until the drop was less than three feet then he let go. Deadpool let go simultaneously, as though the move had been planned, and as Spiderman swung away, he called out, “Thank you, Spidey, Sia later! See what I did there? SIA LATER?!”

“Ugh, I certainly hope not.” He desperately needed to get home so he could jack off. He would put on his favorite, straight porn so that he would not, under any circumstances, be thinking of an obnoxious, well-built mercenary.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Deadpool returned to his crummy Harlem apartment after his encounter with Spiderman. Leaving his mask on, he stripped out of the rest of his costume, throwing the codpiece across the room. Then he collapsed on his dirty Lay-Z-Boy and masturbated furiously, thinking about the way the blue spandex had clung to Spiderman’s muscles and half-hard dick; about the way the back of that lithe body had fit so warm and perfect against his own. 

Wade enjoyed the afterglow for about two minutes before the boxes started up.

[That was fun.]

[[That was pathetic.]]

“Oh, shut up. That was fun. And you think everything we do is pathetic, Yellow, so that comment is completely redundant.”

[I think Spidey likes us a little.]

[[Unlikely. If he’s anything like us, he probably pops a chubby anytime he’s within a foot of another person. We shouldn’t take it personally.]] 

[He didn’t call us names, he didn’t lash out, and he even swung us down to the ground.]

[[That’s cuz he’s a hero, brah, not cuz he likes us.]]

[The other superheroes woulda spewed a bunch of insults, punched us for shits and giggles, and then left us on the Oscorp building to fall to a woefully temporary death.]

“That’s probably true. You’re sounding surprisingly logical right now, Whitey. Have you traded personalities with Yellow?”

[Next time we find Spidey, we should show off what we got!]

Wade frowned under his mask, fingering the cooling cum on his stomach. He liked Whitey’s idea, but “Do we have anything worth showing off?”

[[No.]]

[Normally I’d point to our world class weapons collection. But in this case, DP, I think we should go with our other guns and our ass-ets!]

Wade looked down at his body, and wished suddenly that he had kept the rest of his outfit on. It was hard to look past his itchy, disfigured skin to see his swollen pecs, washboard abs, and the thick muscles of his arms and thighs. But he liked how he looked in his red and black leathers, sometimes he would even admire his costumed shape in widows and other people’s mirrors. It was a guilty pleasure that contrasted sharply with the disgust and panic and despair that arose whenever he gazed upon his real reflection. 

“That does sound kinda fun,” Wade considered. “Even if Spidey isn’t impressed.”

[[Great, here we go again.]]

! ^_^ !

Deadpool knew how to find Spidey most nights because he knew where he lived. One isn’t able to command such exorbitant professional fees without being damn good at finding people who don’t want to be found. That said, Deadpool had never staked out the apartment complex during the day, never broke into the identified apartment, nor made any other efforts to identify Spiderman. He felt that, as his masked brother, he owed Spiderman that specific privacy, especially considering that Deadpool would literally kill himself to avoid the mortification of being stripped bare in front of his favorite hero. Besides, it was an easy concession, as he had little interest in the man’s actual appearance. He didn’t need to know, and he didn’t want to know. The unacknowledged depths of Wade’s psyche recognized that his cherished feeling of brotherhood and commonality might not survive the realities that would likely come to light in an unmasking.

And so it was that, three whole days since their Oscorp encounter, a fully costumed Deadpool hid impatiently on the roof of the apartment complex cattycorner to Spiderman’s. 

[[Because hiding outside his place is so much less creepy than telling him that we know where he lives.]]

“Just shut up. You’re, like, the fucking epitome of unhelpfulness. Obviously, we’d permanently un-alive ourselves if we could, but we can’t, so maybe you should just get with the constructive criticism shtick.”

Eventually, the smaller man crawled out of his window and crawled onto his own roof before swinging away. Deadpool tracked him, despite the difficulty of following the speedy web slinger, because, again, professional merc. There was little opportunity to catch up until Spidey stopped to take care of business in the usual darkened alley. An abandoned crowbar and an eschewed window hinted at the crime that had been interrupted, not that Deadpool cared. By the time he got there, the action was over and Spiderman was in the process of securely webbing the second thug. The first thug, well –

“Hey, Spidey! He looks wrapped up tighter than Bilbo in the giant spider’s lair. This asshole ain’t ever getting away.”

Spiderman’s head jerked up from where he was crouching beside the asshole. “Deadpool.”

Deadpool dropped three stories from the fire escape, cuz he can walk those broken bones off in a matter of seconds, and it definitely looked cooler than climbing down would have. Straightening from his crouched landing, he spread his arms theatrically, “The one and only.”

Spiderman turned back to thug #2, so Deadpool walked up to him. “Do you need help carrying one of them? To, like, the docks or the police station or something?”

Then he struck a classic bodybuilding pose, every muscle clenched and fists in the air. Spiderman stared at him for a long moment, and Wade thought he was probably gaping beneath his mask. Clearing his throat, Spiderman asked skeptically, “What are you doing?”

[[Acting like a fuck-tard.]]

“Showing you my metaphorical guns. You can see my literal guns too, if you want, but they don’t do the literal heavy lifting, though they do do the metaphorical heavy lifting. . . Anyway, the point is that these babies are more than sufficient for hauling one of these assholes around. I could probably even carry both of them, if you’d rather get back to your heroing.”

[That was a self-defeating suggestion! We want him to carry the other asshole!]

[[Yeah, dumbass.]]

“I hate it when you two agree.”

Spiderman looked at him long enough that he had to be thinking something, then he finally stood and turned away from the bound men. “I was just going to call the police and have them pick ‘em up.”

[[Like he usually does. . . We certainly couldn’t show off our brains if we tried.]]

Deadpool followed him out of the alley. “We could go looking for some more bad guys. That sounds fun and the wee morning hours are still young.”

At the mouth of the alley, Spiderman stopped and retrieved a small phone from his wrist guard. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

Then he cut off any argument by raising the phone to his ear. As he spoke with the pigs, Deadpool leaned against the brick wall, legs spread just so, then strategically placed his hands behind his head. 

[It’s working! He’s staring at us!] 

[[Yeah, he either thinks we’re hot or a hot mess. Guess which has more basis in reality?]]

Spiderman hung up after a minute, replacing the phone then glancing back at Deadpool. The taller man picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “Why not? I’m a total trouble magnet. Hang with me tonight and I guarantee we’ll find some baddies. Even if I have to rat out an old employer or three.”

“That’s, uh, actually a little tempting. But no thanks. I prefer to work on my own, and you couldn’t keep up with me anyway.”

[[Burn!]]

Deadpool took the hit easily and kept coming, just like a Terminator Spidey had compared him to. “Then how bout some tacos before you go? I know the best all night taqueria, it’s not too far from here. You should see what happens when you feed me tacos after midnight, I’m like a fucking Gremlin.”

Spiderman cocked his head to the left. “Is that a threat?”

“Hell no!,” Deadpool assured animatedly. “Gremlins are badass! I love Gremlins. . . I’m basically a Gremlin.”

[[Definitely not sexy, even if somewhat accurate.]]

[Speak for yourself. I totally get off on that sweet Gremlin from the second movie, the one in the leopard print bikini dress. Remember her?]

“How could I forget?” Deadpool mumbled, head twitching slightly in a reflexive move to quiet the boxes. It was hard to focus on being cool with so many voices vying for attention. He gave up on the pose and straightened up.

Spiderman opened his mouth but then stopped himself and glanced down the street. “The sirens are coming. If I were you, I‘d scramble before they get here.”

“It’d be a lot easier if you helped me out. Grade A Gremlin stud stock don’t blend in too well, especially not decked out in red leather.”

Spiderman sighed and rubbed a gloved hand along his forehead. “You’re something else, you know that?” Then he repeated the come hither gesture from a few nights ago. “Come on, Princess Leia.”

“Ooo, I like that. I’ll be your princess any time you want,” Deadpool cooed, stepping up to the other man and wrapping his arms around his shoulders with exaggerated care. “I’ll even wear her fetching bikini, if you want. The royal slave look is rather more tasteful than the Gremlin’s streetwalker getup. Though my legs would look fabulous in either.”

“Thanks for that imagery, I’ll just gouge my eyes out after this.” Spiderman grabbed his waist with significantly less delicacy, then shot out a web and whisked them away. 

“Woo hooo!” Again, the transfers were kinda slow and jerky because of only using one webslinger, but they were a few blocks away within a couple minutes. Spiderman dropped Deadpool on a low roof but couldn’t swing away fast enough to miss the tall man’s parting holler, “Bye Spidey! We’ll do tacos next time then!”

! ^_^ !

Three days proved as much time as Deadpool could wait. He took an underpaid job offing a Chicago weapons kingpin because it was an in and out gig that had him back in NYC within 48 hours. That evening he was once again perched across the street from Spiderman’s apartment, waiting for him to go out on patrol. Surfing his smartphone got old quick and Wade could barely restrain himself from calling out when he finally saw Spidey slip out his window. Following him proved a little harder this time, as he headed towards an area of town with taller, more varied buildings that made roof hopping challenging, if not impossible. When Deadpool finally caught up, he was sitting on a high ledge, legs dangling off.

“Hey there, baby boy. Miss me much?” Deadpool plopped down next to him, immediately leaning dangerously forward to peer at the street below. 

This time Spiderman did not startle, turning his head towards the other man. “Deadpool. Can’t say I’m surprised, we seem to cross paths an awful lot these days.” 

“That’s me, the bad penny.” When Spiderman turned his gaze back towards the nightscape without answering, Deadpool floundered for a moment. 

[I know! Pretend to almost fall so that he has to catch us! ]

[[Yes, cuz there’s nothing like incompetence to make one appear cool and attractive. . . Spidey looks pensive, maybe we should try for an intelligent conversation. If that is even possible.]]

“So, uh, you taken down Oscorp yet?”

Spiderman released an amused huff without looking at his companion. “Nah. I handed the stuff I copied off to Stark. He says it hints at illegalities but nothing incriminating. I’ll have to follow up with some leg work to actually catch them in the act.”

“I could help, if you need an extra set of legs. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but mine are very nice, long and strong, could be up for some hard work.” He held his legs up straight, then scissored them to show them off a little. They did look long, with thick cords of muscle running their length.

Spidey’s face was tilted in such a way to suggest that he was looking at Deadpool’s legs, then he said, “Blowing the place sky high is pretty much the opposite of what I have planned.”

[[Strike one! He’s definitely got our number.]]

“That’s not fair, I can espionage when I want to!” Deadpool pouted. “What’s the plan?”

Spiderman was silent for a moment before coming up with another reason to beg off. “I can’t afford you anyway.”

[[Strike two! Hey, how humiliating would it be to strike out, brah?]]

[Pretty humiliating.]

“No problemo, Spidey! You can pay me in trade!”

Spiderman rubbed his hands together. “That is both vague and ominous. I’m gonna have to decline.”

[[Strike three! You’re outta here, loser!]]

“You could just repay me with tacos,” Wade asked a little more desperately, a nervous energy prompting him to start bouncing his legs against the bricks of the ledge.

“I don’t think so.”

[[Enough now, find your goddamn balls and take a hint. It’s time to either kill him or leave.]]

[I am feeling a little queasy.]

Deadpool twitched more violently than usual. “Shut up, I’m trying to have that intelligent conversation here!”

[[Intelligent conversations aren’t punctuated by exclamation marks, shit-for-brains.] ]

“Hey, are you okay?” Spiderman asked, now watching him instead of the skyline. Deadpool didn’t think he was imagining the genuine concern in his voice, and his chest constricted painfully for a moment. Between that and the inexplicable adrenaline, he was finding it hard to breathe.

“Yeah, of course. I’m always okay. Sorry. I’m trying here, it’s just that the boxes are being kinda loud right now. I do really want to talk to you. And not just cuz no one else will talk to me, or because the boxes are crummy conversationalists. I, uh. . .”

There was an eerie quiet in his head before Wade rushed to correct his mistake, suddenly manic. “Shit, I shouldn’t’ve said that! You’re a lot better than the Silence! Even you, Yellow! Don’t- ! Come back!” 

A wave of panic crashed over him with the realization of just how crazy he was acting, basically having an episode in front of the only audience he even cared about these days. Lashing out violently, he punched himself hard in the temple. He jerked backwards, and Spiderman grabbed his arm reflexively, despite the fact he was not falling to his death. His grip rotated Deadpool’s axis slightly, but the large man still crashed heavily back on the roof. 

[HAAAHAHAHAHA! HAAAHAHAHAHA! Haaahahahaha!]

[[Clap. Clap. Clap. Classic Deadpool.]]

Deadpool’s skull, elbow, and tail bone hurt just enough to reestablish his equilibrium. He took a couple steadying breaths, eyes latched onto the pleasant image of Spiderman watching him (perhaps with concern). “Would you believe me if I said I meant to do that?” 

Spiderman’s mask shifted enough to hint at a smile. “No.”

Deadpool rose to his feet, hella graceful for a gangly someone who had just fallen out of his seat. He rubbed his neck and didn’t look at the other man. “Guess I should go. You’ve got your superheroing, I’ve got some Wipeout to watch.”

Deadpool backed away several steps before reluctantly turning around. He might have to have a date with Big Boi tonight. 

“Gonna take the actual stairs this time?”

Deadpool froze. “Unless you’re offering?,” he asked hopefully.

“No. . . But we can go for tacos next time, if you still want.”

Wade grinned to himself, forcing himself to keep his cool and start walking again, if with an added swagger. He hoped Spiderman was watching his ass, he was pretty sure it looked amazing in leather. “Sure. If we ever cross paths again.”

[Wheee!]

[[Unbelievable. We’ve turned being a loser into a winning strategy.]]


	3. Chapter 3

Peter spent the next few days cursing himself for being several kinds of fool, and generally spending way too much time thinking about the Deadpool situation. His thoughts strayed there during his Daily Bugle assignments and while trying to stay awake in class at Empire State. He completely obsessed over it during his nightly patrols, and tried very hard not to think about it in bed or in the shower. It only made matters worse that there was no one with whom he could actually talk over the situation.

Sure, he felt pity for Deadpool, he couldn’t help it, no matter how many times he tried to warn himself against it. But more insidious was the undercurrent of foolish excitement that ran through his interactions with the dangerous, deranged, yet obviously damaged man. Both had prompted Spiderman’s spontaneous offer to go for a meal, which left him fretfully regretting his actions for days. The bottom line was that no good could come from further engaging Deadpool, not for Peter anyway. Ugh, now back to the pity.

Precisely three days later, as fate would have it, they crossed paths again. Spiderman had wondered if the other costumed man would show, waited even, and had grown disappointed as it grew so late that he had to turn back home. He’d only gotten a few blocks, and had just swung onto a roof, when the unmistakable shape stepped from the shadows. 

A spike of excitement tainted Peter’s dread. “Deadpool.”

“Spidey. Fancy meeting you here.” The big man bounced up on toes for a beat, sounding quite proud of himself.

“A shock, for sure.” 

“There’s no way you’re not hungry after the evening you’ve had,” Deadpool returned smugly.

“Stalker much?” Spiderman snapped, feeling defensive in addition to the confusing mix of other emotions. He didn’t like the idea that Deadpool had been able to follow him, undetected, for so long.

The bouncing stopped, the larger man’s exuberant energy sublimating into something more cautious and controlled. “Hunters and rapists stalk. Professional killers perform surveillance, thank you very much.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

Deadpool’s shrug rolled through his whole body. “So you’re reneging on tacos?”

He sounded nonchalant, almost toneless, but Spiderman remembered how flustered the merc had gotten during their last interaction. Rejection would not be unfelt, and Peter didn’t really want to dole out that rejection anyway. Worse yet, Peter felt an excited curiosity that totally wanted to see Deadpool function in a “normal” environment. Damn it, he was falling down the rabbit hole. 

“I didn’t say that. You’re right, I am hungry. But I also have concerns.”

Deadpool released an exaggerated sigh, crumpling in defeat for just a moment before returning to his full height and energy. “Spidey, I promise not to murder or mayhem anyone during tacos. That would be pretty rude, and I like most of the Mexican joints in this neighborhood.” 

“That’s. . . good to know. But I’m more concerned about, uh, your interest in me.” Peter cringed a little at how bad his words sounded, but he didn’t know how else to voice his reluctance. 

“O-kay, I get that. I’m pretty pervy, what with the mask and the surveilling. In the immortal words of Radiohead, ♪♬ I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo ♪♬,” Deadpool mimicked Thom Yorke’s eerie wail for a moment. “Love that song, by the way, totally written for me. . . But, uh, back to the point. Which is? I know, how can I be less of a creep? If you have any suggestions, I’m all ears. Cuz I’da totally done something about all this by now if I knew how.” His last words were punctuated by gesturing from his head to his foot.

What Spiderman really wanted was for Deadpool to not have any expectations of him – not professional, not personal, and certainly not sexual. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell Deadpool that he’d only go out to eat with him if he promised not to have delusions of them ever being friends; that would be both cruel and unfair. Especially considering Peter’s lack of commitment to any of his own expectations. So he settled for, “How ’bout you tell me how you keep finding me?”

Deadpool looked down for a moment and shuffled his weight between feet before spelling out the obvious like big kid, “But if I tell you that, then you’ll make sure we never run into each other again.”

“Possibly. You’d have to trust me not to do that.” Deadpool looked about to object so Spiderman rushed on, “Just like I’ll have to trust you not to go Full Metal Jacket in the taco joint.” 

Deadpool studied him for several seconds, still for once and head cocked to the side. Spiderman wondered briefly if he was listening to the boxes, and then wondered what the boxes said about him (if anything). Finally, Deadpool reanimated. “You drive a hard bargain, Spidey. So here’s what I’ll do for you. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but only after we eat our tacos.”

Spiderman pretended to think about it, but it was embarrassingly easy to agree. “Deal.” 

“Yeeeah!,” Deadpool cried, clearly channeling Lil John, and pumping his fist in the air. “These are gonna be the best tacos ever. Can we swing over? I know a good all night place, but it’s, oh, about a dozen blocks away.”

Spiderman frowned for a moment, not wanting to make so much body contact a regular thing. He was too slow, however, as Deadpool took his hesitance as his queue to continue convincing, “It’s either that or awkward conversation while we walk. And I have been known to drive people to suicide with my conversation skills alone.”

Spiderman doubted it would be awkward conversation, more like one sided verbal diarrhea, which he was finding less obnoxious and increasingly entertaining. Still, it was awfully late, by his nocturnal standards, and he admitted to both hunger and fatigue. “Fine, but you’ll have to piggy back this time. I need both arms free if we’re going any real distance.”

Deadpool slinked closer, a wide grin audible in his voice, “Baby boy. I thought you’d never ask.”

Spiderman rolled his eyes, moving towards the edge of the roof. “Just hold onto my shoulders, not my neck, okay? Which way are we going?”

Deadpool wrapped his arms (and his “masculine scent”) around the shorter man’s shoulders, hands resting high on his chest. Then he bent his head to speak directly in Spiderman’s covered ear, “Eight blocks East and another four or five blocks north. Next to the new construction over there.”

Deadpool was too tall to easily piggy back while Spiderman was standing, so Spiderman jumped first, trusting the strong man to raise his knees and find purchase on his hips. He flinched slightly at the deafening Tarzan yell, then, within a few seconds, the hard heat of Deadpool’s body was pressed securely against Spiderman’s back, codpiece solid, suggestive presence against his spine. With two hands free, this trip was much smoother, a fact that was not lost on the merc. 

Towards the end of their trip, covered lips pressed right to Spiderman’s mask and warm breath tickled his ear. “Spidey, you’re such a sweet ride. Right now, I definitely prefer being a cowboy to a princess.”

Goose bumps rose inexplicably on Spiderman’s skin. “Oh shut it. Where’re we going?”

Deadpool tightened his thick thighs around the athletic body, one arm slipping down his pecs for a better perch as he used the other arm to point over Spidey’s shoulder. “Over there. La Condessa.” 

Spiderman brought them in behind the restaurant. Deadpool detached quickly, but not before cupping a large hand over one of  
Spiderman’s ass cheeks and squeezing lightly. 

“Hey!” Spiderman spun around angrily, almost as irritated at his own flare of arousal as he was the other man. “What the hell?!”

Deadpool took a couple quick steps backwards, hands up. “Sorry, sorry! I know that was wrong! Bad Deadpool, bad!”

“Then why on Earth would you do it?!” 

Deadpool scratched his cheek awkwardly, somehow looking apologetic through his costume. “Cuz I’m fucking pathetic. Yellow said that after tonight you’d start avoiding us. Then stupid Whitey said I should grab your ass, which really is glorious bee tee dubs, cuz I’ll never have another chance to be this close. . .” His words sped up nervously as he forged on. “But I shouldn’t’ve listened to him, cuz he has, like, no concept of boundaries. I’m just so fucking stupid sometimes. . . You could, uh, punish me? Not in the kinky way, of course, though that sounds hot. But you could, like, I dunno, cut off my hand or something? It’ll grow back, but it seems fitting, right?”

He did sound and look kinda pathetic, and Peter found his anger short lived. At this point, he was ready to eat with the Devil himself as long as it got him fed. “No, I don’t want to mutilate you, and I’m disturbed that you’d even suggest that. Just don’t do it again or I will web your hands to your dick.”

Deadpool’s posture straightened and Spiderman could practically read his mood brighten hopefully. Still, his next words weren’t delivered with the usual level of bold confidence. “Honestly, I’d enjoy that way too much.”

Sigh. “Let’s just go eat, I’m famished.”

The small restaurant was empty except for a pair of tired nurses in scrubs. The man at the booth clearly recognized Deadpool, and exchanged a few words, but looked Spiderman over with more interest. They ordered eighteen tacos between them, then proceeded to argue about who was going to pay for them.

“I can pay my own way. I don’t need or want your charity.” The last thing Spiderman wanted was to be indebted to the merc in any way.

“Oh come on, Spidey. We both know who’s doing who a favor here.”

With an annoyed sigh, Spiderman acquiesced and moved to take a seat in a booth with a view of the door. Sitting opposite each other, they stared through their masks at one another for long, weighted seconds. Spiderman speculated on Deadpool’s atypical silence for a moment before finally using the opportunity to cautiously ask about something that had wondered about several times in recent days. “So what do the, uh, boxes usually say? Do they tell you to do. . . things?”

It took Deadpool a beat to break his zombie stare and then turn to look through the window at the darkened street. He tapped his gloved fingers on the table for a few seconds before shrugging and looking back at Spiderman. “Well, Whitey’s okay I guess, always up for a good time, yuh know? So he encourages me to, um, have fun. Probably nothing you would approve of, mostly weapons and explosions and food. He’s a real horn dog too, so lots of innuendo and graphic descriptions of his wack fantasies. But he’s not too helpful on that front though, as you might’ve noticed.” 

“Hmmm. Can’t say I’m too shocked by any of that,” Spiderman replied. He continued to study the man across from him, who had turned his head back towards the window. “And the other one? Or is it more than two?” 

The other man was silent for even longer this time, fingers slowly tapping at random. Finally, he turned back to Spiderman briefly before looking down at the table and continuing in a quieter voice than his usual boom. “Yellow is the only other one. He’s a real downer, a fucking miserable cunt, excuse my language. Always with the sarcasm, and the name calling, and the never ending criticism.” 

His voice suddenly shifted down an octave and took on a scornful rhythm, “We’re so stupid, we’re so hideous and disgusting, an eyesore, a complete psycho. Don’t even try, we can’t do anything right. Just kill yourself, oh wait we can’t die. We’re gonna be miserable forrr-eeeverrr. Blah blah blah.” 

Muscles visibly tensed, Deadpool looked up at Spiderman then. The mocking tone recalibrated to a more typical frequency, with an edge of anger that Spiderman had never heard before. “Right now he’s telling me how much he hates us, but I hate him more. More than he hates me and more than those sick fucks that did this to me. I hate him for being so fucking insightful, for being so right about us all the time! I hate him so much I can’t even- NNNGH!” 

Banging his elbows on the table, Deadpool suddenly dropped his head into large, ungentle hands that seemed to be squeezing his skull. Peter instinctively reached his hand across the table, but he did not touch and he doubted the agonized man even saw his gesture. He felt a painful empathy for Deadpool’s torment, as well as an aching guilt for knowingly bringing up this potentially upsetting subject. “You don’t have to say any more, man. I was just trying to understand. I didn’t mean to trigger a break down or anything.” 

Deadpool snorted faintly in apparent amusement. After a moment, face still inches from the table, his muffled voice filtered over. “This is hardly a breakdown by my standards. Just a, uh, hiccup. You trusted me not to go Full Metal Jacket up in here, and I won’t.”

“I know you won’t,” Spiderman assured, wanting to believe his own words. 

Deadpool tilted his face up shyly, so that he was just barely looking at Spiderman. “You must think I’m completely batshit.”  
Spiderman shrugged, catching sight of the waitress coming their way with a heavy tray. “There’s not a lot of people is the superpowered community playing with a full deck. You should see Banner when he flips out.”

The waitress approached with a tray of food. She seemed nervous, but managed to exchange pleasantries with Deadpool in Spanish, while only gaping a little at Spiderman. The food smelled great, and Spiderman eyed Deadpool briefly before carefully rolling his mask up so that it rested below his nose. Then he removed his gloves, grabbed a loaded taco, and took a large, messy bite of juicy deliciousness. 

Deadpool observed him with obvious interest before turning to his own meal. Spiderman watched in turn as he tiled his head down, pushed his own mask up to his nose, then used a large, gloved hand to hide his mouth as though talking with a full mouth. With his free hand he cradled a taco and managed to shove about half of it into his mouth without revealing much of anything. It was clearly a practiced maneuver and it only served to stoke Spiderman’s curiosity. Still, he wasn’t going to broach any more sensitive topics right now, especially not with a mouthful of food. 

Deadpool quickly stuffed another two tacos into his face, little pieces falling to the table carelessly, before finally breaking the silence. Between the mouth full of food and the covering hand, Spiderman had to guess at his words, “So, enough bout lil ol’ me. Tell me something about you’self.” 

Spiderman shrugged, vaguely thinking about what he could tell the other man without revealing too much. “I’m not that interesting. I go to college, got a part-time job. The usual.” 

Deadpool watched him, chewing noisily before finally swallowing. “Do you have a personfriend?”

“What sort of question is that? I mean, yes, all my friends are people. I’m not a cat lady or anything.”

“Personfriend, like a girlfriend or boyfriend. I thought that would be better than asking about who you’re fucking these days.”

Peter should’ve been able to guess. “No. I’m between girlfriends right now. This whole superhero gig seems to make those sort of relationships hard. And dangerous.”

Deadpool crammed another taco half into his mouth and proceeded to quiz Spiderman on everything from Avengers gossip and current politics (which are more closely related than anyone is comfortable with) to his favorite movies and foods. To his surprise, Spiderman grew increasingly impressed with the other man’s conversational skills. Despite running off at the mouth and littering his speech with profanities and cultural references, Deadpool actually proved adept at keeping the conversation lively and funny, while avoiding depth and details. Spiderman had anticipated a meal spent fending off the abrasive man’s advances and inappropriate questions, so he was relieved to be able to relax slightly and, yes, just enjoy the exchange. Deadpool talked and joked with animation, finding large gestures that displayed the broad contours of his chest and arms. Peter was not so unaware that he didn’t realize how much he appreciated this display. 

They kept talking for a good twenty minutes after the food was gone.

Finally, as the sky began showing early signs of morning, Spiderman yawned loudly and stood. “As fascinating as this has been, I do need to catch a little sleep before powering through the day. Let’s finish this conversation outside.”

“Sure thing, Spidey.” Deadpool left a generous tip on the table and followed the shorter man out of the restaurant with an energetic wave at the staff.

A few steps away from the door, Spiderman stopped and braced for another difficult round. “Okay, we went for tacos, and they were pretty good. Thank you. . . I still want to know how you keep finding me.”

It was Deadpool’s turn to sigh. His shoulders and back hunched as he seemed to shrink in on himself a little. “I don’t suppose you’d promise not to freak out?”

Spiderman had considered as many possibilities as he could think of, some of which were pretty far out there. He definitely could not make that promise. “No.”

“Didn’t think so. . .” Deadpool shifted his weight from foot to foot a couple times. “Please just, um, keep in mind that I haven’t done anything evil with this info, I swear. I could have, but I haven’t.”

“Not really helping the situation,” Spiderman returned with mild annoyance and anxiety. He didn’t really think the other man was out to hurt him, but neither was he trustworthy or predictable. “Just tell me already.” 

“Well, as established previously, I do have some skill in surveillance. I’m a pretty good tail, and I have some tech that helps with that. So it’s not too hard to track you. Especially since I, ahhh, know where you live.” He mumbled the last bit, leaning away as though expecting an explosion. 

Spiderman was mute and deathly still for a long moment. His anonymity was critical to his sense of security and wellbeing, so this threat spiked his fear and adrenaline sharply as he tried not to completely flip his shit. Obviously there was no point in running (where to?), nor was the impulse to violently silence the mercenary either appropriate or even possible. Between clenched teeth, he forced out, “So you know everything.”

“No! I know almost nothing!” Deadpool rushed to assure. “I’ve only watched the window so that I can follow you on patrol, I swear! I swear on Thor, may his godly lightening strike me down! I haven’t spied on you, I haven’t even gotten close enough to see inside your apartment, cross my heart and hope to die. I just watched through my scope. I haven’t seen your face, except that you just showed me your mouth, which is luscious by the way, better than I could’ve imagined, though frankly I usually picture you in your super sexy Spider spandex-”

“Deadpool!” Spiderman snapped, not at all in the mood for the alliterative tangent. His scope?!

“Right, right,” Deadpool redirected himself, words pouring out even faster. “I don’t know your name either. I’m sure I could find out, but who cares, right? You don’t want to see my face, or know my name either, amirite? I think being anonymous not-fucking buddies is working pretty well for us, right? Even if I knew something, I wouldn’t do anything with that. I adore you, Spidey. You’re, like, totally my fave superhero, even more amazing than Captain America, who is awwwe-some!”

Deadpool inhaled sharply, as if gearing up for an extra burst of speed, but then he visibly stopped himself. Spiderman was rubbing his temples, tired and trying to cope with this crisis and the verbal vomit that Deadpool had just spewed all over it. Surely he couldn’t believe that Deadpool didn’t know anything; could he? What would the maniac do with the info if he had an off day? Should he move ASAP?

“Is there some collateral I can give to earn back your trust?” Deadpool abruptly asked, suddenly sounding cold and professional, with a parade rest posture to match. 

Spiderman’s mind flitted over the possibilities – things he knew Deadpool would rather not reveal, things he was curious about. But none of it would’ve bought his trust, or brought back the security of anonymity. He shook his head, then turned away from the merc in frustrated defeat. “Just leave me alone. If I catch you stalking me again, we’re going to exchange more than words. Reed Richards has a prison in the Negative Zone for people like you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for warnings.

Wade went home in a stupor, sat in his stained recliner, The Throne of Solitude. He reluctantly removed his mask, folding it carefully over the arm of the chair. Then he spent a few minutes staring at Big Boi, the high caliber Desert Eagle that he preferred for this ritual; it looked phallic and lethal from every angle.

[If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you.]

[[You wouldn’t know Nietzsche if it bit us in the ass. Just get this over with so we can get on to enjoying our obliteration.]]

Finally, he placed the barrel in his mouth and blew his brains out. He did that sometimes; not often, just when reality lined up with Yellow’s vitriol too well and he couldn’t live with feeling horrible for a second longer. His endless coping mechanisms could only do so much, so that sometimes he just couldn’t cope with the agony of accepting that he was a frightfully hideous psychopath with no friends and no hope of ever being able to end his physical and emotional torment. Usually he managed to be numb and oblivious to the facts, but every once in a while reality crashed in ♪♬ like a wrecking ball ♪♬. He occasionally thought that if only he had someone to talk about it with, he would be able to cope better, but then that only ever made him feel worse. 

The Eagle’s large caliber ammo did a lot of damage, so it took a couple hours for Deadpool to come to, still cradled in his Throne. Starving and with an awful migraine, he still felt better than he had. After he put his mask back on, he made a weak effort to clean the brain and bone matter off the chair, floor, and walls. The stains didn’t bother him, but the stink could get pretty disgusting if that biomatter was left to rot. 

[[We’re better off this way. The longer he pitied and humored us, the worse we would’ve felt when he bailed. We’re stronger on our own. Spiderman was just a weakness and a distraction.]]

Yellow sounded more sympathetic, but that was no surprise. He was always nicest after successfully convincing Deadpool to commit suicide. And why not? He’d gotten what he wanted, in so far as their superpowered body would permit anyway.  
Whitey took a little longer to come back online, but by that time Deadpool had already lined up a diversion. 

[HYDRA hunt, sweet!!! I love SHIELD commissions. I mean, the pay is barely worth getting out of bed, but where else can we find such concentrations of trigger-happy assholes to murder and mayhem?! Cartel assassinations get so boring.]

[[SHIELD certainly doesn’t waste our talents on anything someone else could do. We only get the jobs that no one else could stomach or survive.]]

“Good thing that’s how we like it,” Deadpool concluded coldly, zipping up his duffle bag full of explosives, semi-automatics, and an eclectic array of other high-kill weapons. 

He met up with the SHIELD pilot within the hour, boarded their jet, and didn’t return to New York City for three weeks. He spent days at a time in video game mode, occasionally powering up on ration bars and amassing hundreds of thousands of bonus points for killing with creativity and humor. He added sixty four people to his confirmed kill count and had to replace his costume when the leather got too stiff with dried blood. 

! ^_^ !

Deadpool had been back in his NYC apartment for two days, and had already had to talk himself out of visiting Spiderman’s apartment several times. Being bored was not a good look for him, and there were only so many episodes of Golden Girls he could watch before he started hallucinating that he was fabulous Bea Arthur.

[[It doesn’t matter if he’s moved or not. He doesn’t want to see our creepy, ugly ass, and we’ll court nothing but trouble by coming around.]]

[♪♬ Trouble trouble trouble! ♪♬]

[[Shut it, Taylor, you sound like a goat. There really is a maximum security prison in the Negative Zone, and the only reason we’re not there is that we’re more useful on the outside. Wanna see how fast that changes if we piss off the wrong people?]] 

“Speaking of which, isn’t that the Avengers?” Deadpool mumbled, squinting at the TV. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the news, but it looked like his favorite superhero team was doing its usual property damage to midtown Manhattan. He didn’t see Spiderman, but the cameras showed Ironman and Falcon in the air, as well as Captain America and Black Widow on the ground. For a moment it looked like they were fighting themselves, but then he spotted the problem – innumerable white rabbits appeared to be leaping great distances to attack people with their teeth. 

“Wicked,” he uttered, mouth practically hanging open. Then he darted to his feet, already reaching for his katanas. “I can’t miss this!”

He grabbed a couple random guns on his way out the door then jumped on the Kawasaki he kept chained up outside (cuz always jacking the nearest car is a no-no in long term leasing). It was beat up enough not to get stolen in Harlem, but still hella fast. When he hit traffic or a red stoplight, he used his fritzy teleportation belt (which only worked well enough to move within visual distance) to jump ahead to the next block. He managed not to hit any civilians and, within fifteen minutes, he was in midtown, where the chaos had spiraled completely out of control. The civilians had mostly taken cover, but there were plenty of gnarly corpses with bloody bite wounds, mostly on their faces and necks; and, of course, there were scores of roaming rabid rabbits, density only increasing as he drove towards the sounds of gunfire. Several lunged in his direction, but his speed protected him up until he slowed to a stop at Times Square.

Most obviously, Iron Man was hovering out of the animal’s range in the middle of the Square, apparently trying to minimize property damage by using small caliber automatic fire. Black Widow stood on top of a Quinjet parked at the south end, using her own semi- automatic weapon to mow down overgrown rodents. Spiderman was crouching on a red double decker bus, webbing and trapping the little bastards to the ground, humane in comparison to the others. Captain America was nowhere to be seen, but Deadpool used the shots’ trajectories to spot Hawkeye and the “reformed” Winter Soldier sniping from the different ledges. The ground was basically obscured by killer white rabbits everywhere.

Deadpool cackled at the scene, dismounting his bike and unsheathing his katanas is two fluid, simultaneous motions. 

[HEEE YAAAH!!! It’s show time, bitches!]

The first vampire bunny took a flying leap at him and he sliced it cleanly in half. Inspired, Deadpool belted out his favorite line from Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit, “♪♬ Rememberrr what the dormouse saaaid, FEED YOUR HEAD! FEED YOUR HEAD! ♪♬”

A second bunny found a similar fate, and then two more at once, then a half dozen. Soon he was in constant motion, swinging and lunging into the multitude of little bodies, spinning and dodging just as quickly. When one got through and sunk its sharp teeth into Deadpool’s calf, he sheathed his swords in favor of the handgun secured to his thigh and semi-automatic on a strap over his shoulder. With the Beretta he shot the rabbit chewing on his leg, and with the Kalashnikov he opened fire on the hoard with a manic laugh. 

[[“I have seen enough to know that I have seen too much.”]]

[Pshhh. Too easy. League of Their Own. Love that movie!]

Soon the rabbits seemed to grow pixilated, and an 8 bit tune faded in, like the music from an old video game. Time warped blissfully and Pool-o-vision had him scoring 100 points with each kill until he broke all of his own records. 

[[Is it weird that rabbit lives are worth as much as human lives?]]

“Who gives a flying fuck!”

It’s impossible to say how long this went on for before it was interrupted by a deafening explosion that rocked the Square. Wade’s vision and mind cleared as he fell to his knees, just in time to witness an impressive section of street collapse in on itself Spidey’s large tourist bus tipped into the giant hole and Deadpool was sprinting forward before he was even fully on his feet.

At the gaping edge, he immediately spotted Spidey climbing a web anchored to a nearby outcropping of pavement. He looked okay, climbing strong, so Deadpool held back. He cursed his hesitance a moment later when he smelled the strong, familiar odor of natural gas, and again sprinted around the chasm towards the other man. Spiderman had just hoisted himself onto the remaining street when Deadpool jumped on him, pancaking him on the pavement. Mask to mask, chest to chest, Deadpool immediately felt a little dizzy at the intoxicating proximity. 

[[It’s the gas, you imbecile.]] 

“What the Hell, Pool?!”

Did his chest just clench a little at the sound of a nickname coming from Spiderman’s lips? 

A second, slower explosion flashed and burnt through the air, and Deadpool blanketed his body tighter around the smaller man’s. The back of his head, legs, and torso all seared in agony, muscles clenching tighter as he muffled his cry into the thin spandex of Spiderman’s shoulder. Seconds later, it was all over except the crackle of dying flames and the fatty stench of burnt meat.

[[That bacon smell is us, brah. That is the rabbit.]]

Wade gagged in pain even as his body dulled its senses and disassociated from the screaming of its own scorched nerves; he tried not to throw up on his hero, even as he felt the creeping tingling in his excruciating flesh, a sign that it was beginning to heal. Spiderman gave him a weak shove up, and he somehow managed to maneuver to his trembling knees and shuffle unsteadily backwards. He struggled to take in his surroundings, but noted the fallen enemy, mostly still except for the odd twitching of one still in the last throws of death. The world was eerily silent. 

Spiderman scrambled to his feet, so that Wade, in his shaky state, found it a little disorienting to look up at the other man. It looked as if Spiderman was actually standing on the pedestal upon which Deadpool’s mind had placed him. 

[Like the sun, everything pales next to his brilliance. He’s breathtaking.]

[[That would be the blinding pain making it hard to focus on more than one thing at a time. And, of course, the chest-crushing agony making it hard to breathe. Surrounded by dumbasses, seriously.]]

Spiderman reached out but Wade flinched back and instinctively held up his hands to ward him off. Were his lips moving below the mask? The volume of Sound and Touch suddenly turned way up –

“-not going to hurt you.”

Deadpool inhaled sharply, forcing himself to absorb the excruciating pain and focus on the man in front of him. Spiderman had frozen, hands open in a universally peaceful gesture. Wade took steps to regulate his racing heart and heavy breathing. He chuckled weakly even as he stumbled to his feet, again waving Spiderman off. Then he raised his fist to his mouth, first two fingers extended like fangs, and joked weakly, “’Nasty, big, pointy teeth.’” 

[He’s gotta love Monty Python. Everyone loves Monty Python.]

“Good one, I love Monty Python,” Spiderman replied, still standing and speaking as though to a wild animal.

Just then, Iron Man landed next to them. He took a few heavy steps closer even as his faceplate retracted to reveal Tony Stark. The man’s eyes raked over Spiderman before turning to the mercenary with his usual caustic manner. “Deadpool. What an unexpected surprise. Shoulda known you’d come in handy when it’s time to massacre.” 

“Yeah, uh, you know me too well. Murder, Mayhem, and Massacres, Incorporated,” he babbled distractedly, already backing away and again checking his surroundings for threats, this time spotting the rapid approach of both Black Widow and Falcon. Normally he’d love to trade wits or spar with the three superheroes, but he was kinda still in a lot of pain, and the back of his costume was burnt to shit, revealing a large patches of scorched, mutilated skin and one partially bare ass. Right now he wanted to beat a hasty retreat so that he could go lick his wounds in private.

[[Coward’s choice, but good call nonetheless.]]

“I do wonder at your presence though,” Stark practically accused. “I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”

Deadpool backed up further and faster, until Iron Man and Spiderman were both following him. “Listen guys, I’m gonna be honest here. I’m having a bit of a costume malfunction right now. So unless you want me to go all Janet Jackson on your asses, with, uh, my ugly ass, I suggest you let me make my graceful exit.”

“What’s going on here?” the ever foxy Black Widow interrupted, barely a hair out of place. The Falcon landed next to her a second later.

[♪♬ Gonna love you like a Black Widow, baby! ♪♬]

Despite Whitey falsettoing in the background, Deadpool’s unease was growing as he became increasingly outnumbered. He didn’t think the superheroes would go medieval on his ass, especially while already injured, but his thoughts flashed to a prison cell in the Negative Zone. He itched to hold a weapon, any weapon, and his fingers clenched around an imaginary grip. 

“I’m going to take Deadpool home,” Spiderman interjected quickly and loudly, moving closer to position himself between the mercenary and his teammates. “Can’t you see he’s hurt? Which happened while saving my life? We can debrief later.” 

Black Widow’s sharp eyes were stabbing holes in Deadpool, but Stark was looking around at the bunny graveyard. “Media’s going to be here soon. And the Mayor is gonna be pissed about this giant hole in Times Square. Maybe it would be better if we don’t have to explain him too.”

“Here.” Falcon handed Spiderman a folded gray blanket, but looking over his shoulder at Deadpool. “Believe me, you’re not the first to have a suit disintegrate on them during a fight. We keep them on hand.”

“Haha!” Stark laughed gleefully. “Now that was hysterical. That’s what you get for taunting the Enchantress. I told you she’s a minx.”

[Oooh, there’s one for the spank bank. Enchantress/Falcon.]

Spiderman turned to Deadpool and offered him the blanket. He wanted to be petulant about it, but not as much as he wanted what was on offer. So he grabbed it, shook it open briskly, and wrapped it around his shoulders despite making contact with his raw burns. Despite their joking, he knew exactly what it was: a Banner Blanket. It helped immediately, and he felt his confidence and strength return despite the pain. 

“Let’s go,” Spiderman muttered, moving closer and taking Deadpool’s elbow with surprising gentleness. This time he accepted the touch and allowed it to direct him away from the other superheroes. 

“We’re going to have a talk about this tomorrow,” Black Widow called, but Deadpool couldn’t tell who she was talking to.

“Are you able to hold on?” Spiderman asked.

“Yes. But there’s really no need. No biggie, no permanent damage.”

[[Ever. No permanent damage ever. As though it never happened. And then, one day, Whitey will forget that it did happen, and then it’ll be like all the pain and suffering means nothing.]]

[Forget what happened? Nothing’s happened to us.]

[[Case in point.]]

Deadpool twitched, struggling to pay attention to both conversations at once. Spiderman was looking at him weird. 

“Well, it’s a biggie to me, cuz you got hurt saving me. The least I can do is take you home. Come on.”

Deadpool could hear the sirens in the distance, and he couldn’t deny that a bare ass ride on Spiderman was far more appealing than a bare ass ride on his rabbit-logged Kawasaki. The still healing skin on his back would object, but already the pain had faded to tolerable levels. He nodded and tied the blanket around his neck. “Hey, is the cape fetching? Do I look like Thor? Or maybe Magneto?”

“More like the Vision. Maybe if you had a helmet.” Then he turned and presented his back to Deadpool. 

Deadpool briskly wrapped his arms over Spiderman’s shoulders and then jumped up as Spidey just swung them away, bodies in synch. “Where to?”

“Harlem. 125th.”

They made decent time, but it still took almost fifteen minutes, and Wade couldn’t resist relaxing and enjoying the experience. He was too sore to feel horny, and it allowed him to appreciate the finer things; like the warmth of another body, the intimacy of contact with another being, the comfort of sharing these things with someone as genuinely good as Spiderman. Nothing awful would happen to him when he was with the other man, Spidey was a real hero, and would be fair and decent to him even though he was a creep. 

[Plus, he smells really good. Like, chocolate chip cookie dough.]

[[Well said. We, on the other hand, must really reek. Care for some crispy bacon bits with your cookie dough?]]

Okay, so by the end of trip, the swinging had turned the butterflies in his stomach into full on nausea. When they stopped at 125th, Deadpool stood and quickly turned away from Spiderman. He jerked his mask up to his nose to spit out a glob of tangy spit. Unfortunately, he hadn’t considered the fact that the back of his mask was still fused to the now mostly healed skin on the back of his head. 

“OH FUCK!” Deadpool yelled, grabbing his head in agony and stumbles sideways. He could feel blood seeping through his fingers.

Spiderman was there with a steadying hand on his upper arm, but he could do little more than watch as Wade breathed deeply and struggled to get himself under control. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just gonna walk from here, cuz I’m fine. Thanks for the ride ‘n’ all. And for helping me get away from your buddies. Sometimes I’m totally up for a good beat down, but I just wasn’t feeling it right then.”

Spiderman didn’t let go of him, and somehow he could tell that Spidey was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. “No, Pool. I’m taking you all the way home. You know where I live, so I want to see where you live. You asked before what collateral you could give to earn my trust. Well, think of this as Equivalent Exchange.” 

[Squee!!! Dork reference!]

“I see what you did there,” Deadpool interjected, quick and quiet. 

“I know you do.”

[Is he flirting with us?]

[[If he is, he’s as nuts as we are.]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for suicide and injury. PLEASE REVIEW!


	5. Chapter 5

Deadpool led Spiderman a couple blocks to a rundown apartment building, only passing a couple brave folks on the street. The elevator was slow, but eventually took them to the top floor, where there were only two doors in the hallway. Deadpool lead him to one of the doors, carefully positioning himself so that Spiderman would never get a good view of his back of his head or body.

“So this is my humble abode. I’d invite you in, but it’s a pig sty, so I’ll spare you that.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely coming in. How else do I know for sure that this is your place?”

Deadpool froze for a second before shrugging dramatically. “Okay, you got me there. I was just warning yuh.” 

He retrieved a key from his utility belt and opened the door, then gestured for him to go first. Spiderman stepped cautiously through, Deadpool on his heels. A musty smell of old food and stale air hit him, though it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. A second later Deadpool put on the hallway light and he took in a large, if ill-kept apartment. Food wrappings, take out containers, and other garbage littered the floor; bullet holes and stains were visible on the walls and ceiling, yet the sparseness of the furniture kept it from being overwhelming. In the living room there was nothing but a dirty Lay-Z-Boy, a large TV on top of a box, and trash; in the dining room there was only small, shabby table and a couple milk crates stacked together for a chair, though less loose refuse. 

Deadpool watched him awkwardly as he looked around, and Spiderman didn’t doubt for a moment that it was his space. His largess filled up the emptiness quite well. “Why don’t you grab a shower? Do you need help getting out of your suit?”

“No.” Deadpool shook his head vigorously. Then after a pause, “Don’t you think it’s a bit hinky, though? You snooping around while I’m naked in the other room?”

“I’m not snooping, I’m gonna rustle you up something to eat. And make sure you don’t fall and can’t get up, or something like that. Even if you don’t want any help, I’m here just in case you need it.” He hadn’t gotten a good look, but Peter knew what had happened when the merc had tried to pull up his mask earlier. 

“Suit yourself.” Deadpool backed up to a door, presumably to his bedroom, which he then disappeared through with a slam.  
Spiderman took a couple minutes to snoop, long enough to take note of the multiple layers of blood stains on the back of Lay-Z-Boy, and to identify the marks on the ceiling and wall as also blood splatter. He opened the door to the spare bedroom, but it was empty except for a large box of ammunition and a hole that appeared to have been forcefully hammered into the wall between the apartments. Poking his head through the hole, he could see the opposite room was empty except for couple more closed boxes. He heard Deadpool start cursing and making muffled pain sounds through the door to the shared bathroom, so Spiderman backtracked to the kitchen. All he could locate in the cupboards was a dozen packs of ramen, so he cleaned out two plastic take out bowls and used them to microwave a double portion for Deadpool and a single for himself. 

It took Deadpool a long time to shower, so Peter made an effort to pick up some of the garbage, but it didn’t stop his thoughts from creeping up on him. He’d spent the days since his last encounter with the mercenary waiting for the hammer to drop. He waited for his name to be published in the newspapers or for a bomb to go off in his apartment, or to be ambushed as he left on patrol. But as days had turned into a week, he began to relax and realize that Deadpool appeared to be doing as he’d ordered: leaving him alone. Then by the end of the second week Peter was experiencing the treacherous feeling of actually missing the other man’s periodic appearances. 

Had he been too harsh? He lingered on certain parts of their last interaction. Like the memory of Deadpool laughing and joking across the dinner table, occasionally sweeping his arms apart to show off his chest and arms. He hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time, but he’d totally schoolgirled and found Pool cuuute. Then there was the memory of the unmannered Deadpool covering his mouth as he ate; the memory of him holding his head together after spilling out all the hate he felt for himself, and how heartbreaking that had been to watch; the memory of Pool nervously trying reassure him that he adored Spidey and would never hurt him. He had used the same word that night in Osborn’s penthouse office. 

Spiderman was eventually pulled from his navel gazing by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Deadpool was wearing a pair of worn jeans with thick socks, a large black hoodie, and a new mask over his head, seemingly made of a much thinner material. He looked a million times cleaner, and this time Spiderman could admit to finding the other man kinda adorable. 

“I made us some ramen.” Spiderman gestured to the table where two bowls rested. 

“Only two packs?” Deadpool complained, picking up his bowl and bringing it up to his covered nose. He was wearing a cheap pair of red cotton gloves. “I can eat, like, six of ‘em. Easy.”

“I ordered a bunch of burritos, some churros, and a liter of Fanta. But they said it would be a while. They’re backed up cuz of the killer rabbit thing.” 

Deadpool took his bowl with him into the living room, where he sat in the Lay-Z-Boy and rolled his mask up just a bit so that he could gulp down the noodles. Spiderman gave the man his privacy and ate his own noodles in the dining room, propping his ass on the milk crates. In the new clothes, there was no sign of recent events, and Peter wondered if Deadpool’s skin still bore evidence. The larger man finished eating in under a minute, pulled down his mask, and discarded the recycled bowl on the floor. “So, if you’re going to stick around, wanna watch something?”

“Sure, soon as I’m done.” Spiderman heard the TV turn on and wonders at the man who had just saved his life as though it was nothing. A couple minutes later his own meal was done, and he quietly brought the milk crates to sit next to Deadpool. He was sprawled starfish in his disgusting chair, but his clothes looked soft and he seemed comfortable, apparently mesmerized by news coverage of the rabbits.

Pool particularly liked the footage of them all mowing down the furry critters with heavy gunfire. “I need to get a still frame of this, blow it up, and put it on my wall. Best picture ever! Me and the Avengers! White fur flying everywhere!” 

Deadpool in particular looked like a maniac, clearly laughing as he hacked and blew away the little furry bodies, while Black Widow had a look of murderous determination on her face, and Iron Man was laying down automatic fire like a professional exterminator. Only Falcon looked as lost as one should be when confronted by vampire rabbits.

“I’ll get our katanas back, don’t worry,” Pool muttered to himself.

When the news got repetitive, Deadpool used the remote to lower the volume, then turned towards Spiderman with an almost theatrical pose. “You really don’t need to stay, and I know how to convince you. You need to hear my Not Dead Yet checklist.”  
Spiderman crooked a smile under his mask. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Deadpool brandished a tablet from a pocket on the Lay-Z-Boy, then took a moment to pull something up on the screen. Handing it to Spiderman, he directed, “It’s a check list, read off all the ways Styx gets killed.”

Spiderman groaned in reluctant amusement, but did as he was told. “’Machine gunned, hand gunned, hijacked left for dead’.”

“More times than I can even count. Got machine gunned and hand gunned just last week. Poor start, next!”

“’Dive bombed, napalmed, nuclear warheaded’.”

“Check to the dive bombing, several times in fact; most recently a couple of Russian drones in Afghanistan. Check to the napalm too, Dr. Killbrew performed some very interesting experiments back in the day. Nuclear warhead, I’d say check on a technicality; the warhead did land on me and shatter my spine, but it didn’t actually explode, so there was no actual nuclear re-ax-shun, see?” Deadpool explained, then asked earnestly, “Does it still count, you think?”

“Sure. On a technicality,” Spiderman played along. “‘Dropped from a jet plane with no parachute’.”

“Again, more than once. A couple time without a parachute, once with a busted parachute; once over the Pacific with weights tied to my legs.”

“How’d you get out of that?” Spiderman asked easily. 

“Nu-uhn.” Deadpool wagged his finger. “No time for petty details, or we’ll be here all night. Neeext.”

“‘Shot by a firing squad and raped by a business suit’.”

“Check, thank you Turkish army for doing it old school. And check to the business suit, of course, both literally and metaphorically. Who hasn’t?”

Spiderman wanted to follow up, but he was getting the rhythm of this off color game. “‘I’m dancing on a land mine baby, one leg left.’”

“Yes again, lost most of my leg in Cambodia and I certainly hopped around for a while afterwards. Did you know that Cambodia has the most hidden land mines of any country in the world?”

Spiderman shook his head.

“Now, I’m not saying landmines are an experience I’d care to repeat, but. . .” Deadpool’s voice and demeanor shift as he mimics, “‘Tis but a scratch! A flesh wound!’”

“I see what you did there,” Spiderman teased, echoing the merc’s earlier words back at him. “Returning to the Monty Python theme.” 

He’d swear that Deadpool was grinning at him from under his mask, just beaming at him for a long moment. Finally, he deflated a little and concluded, “So thanks for bringing me home, but you needn’t stay. You shouldn’t worry about me. Like, at all. I’m literally always okay.”

They studied each other as seconds ticked by, and Peter wondered if they’d ever stop talking at cross purposes. “Okay then, I’ll leave. But I want you to promise me that you won’t bail on this debrief tomorrow morning. Cuz Widow will totally come for you if you do.”

“No way, I’m gonna be two states away by then! That bitch is definitely the Scary Spice of the group.”

“Or you could endure a sophisticated grilling by my side,” Spidey countered. “And then I’ll treat you to gyros afterwards.”

Deadpool froze for a moment while changing gears, then revved back up, “Now how can I resist that?! It’s like you knew that free food is my Kryptonite!”

Spiderman got to his feet and moved right next to the recliner. Deadpool eyed his approach, shifting his weight around warily. Spiderman knew that there would never be a good time to tell him what he really wanted to say. “You probably saved my life today, I owe you a big one.”

“I’d rather have a kiss, but I’ll settle for a thanks,” Deadpool said with fake indifference, strategically glancing at the TV instead of the man beside him. “None of that life debt shit please, it don’t mean much to those of us that can’t die. It’s no skin off my back, seriously. Or in this case, just the top layer.” 

Spiderman bent over and took Pool’s large hands in his, and even through the thin material of both gloves, he could feel the strength and tension in those long fingers. Deadpool did turn his head to face him then, and Peter found it easy to convey what he wanted to say, “Thank you.”

Then he leaned forward and, through two layers of thin masking, gently brushed his lips against Pool’s cheek. He pulled back to check for a reaction, but Deadpool was still and silent for once, apparently gob smacked. Spiderman fought the insane impulse to hug the man, and settled for squeezing those strong hands once before letting go. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On his way out the door, Spiderman finally heard Deadpool’s dazed response, “Tomorrow, right.” 

! ^_^ !

The grilling got a little gnarly. Apparently the Widow had picked Deadpool up personally, and they had been antagonizing each other ever since. From the moment they walked into the conference room at Stark Tower, their dynamic was clear: she tried to manipulate him into admitting his evil intentions and he verbally spazzed out all over the place. In the conference room, the Black Widow sat on one side of the table with Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, while Peter got up and purposely moved to sit next to Deadpool on the other side of the table. The mercenary was wearing a new red and black leather suit, though he had forgone the thick combat mask for yesterday’s thinner one; his katana sheathes were forlornly empty.

“So, Deadpool. . . Or would you rather we call you Wade?” Tony teased, clearly channeling some intel from JARVIS.

The grumpy figure glanced briefly at Spiderman beside him before crossing his arms and muttering petulantly, “Deadpool is fine, Anthony. Fuck you very much.”

“I think we all know each other well enough,” Cap began, trying to sound calm and collected, but Spiderman could tell that he’d rather be elsewhere. “What we want to establish is why you were in Times Square yesterday and what your intentions were.”

“Did you miss the swarm of vampire bunnies?” Deadpool made the fang gesture again, but only Stark cracked a smile. “I saw it on the news and came running. How could I stay away? Bloody little teeth snapping at my heels, the budda budda tattoo of gunfire, fur flying everywhere-”

“How’d you even get there?” Black Widow interrupted before he could wax too poetic. 

“Hey, I’ve got wheels. In fact, I left my Kawasaki in the Square. Whatdja think the odds are of getting her back?”

“Not good,” Stark replied, then a second later, “JARVIS calculates about 31 percent.”

“What about my katanas? I’m pretty attached to those. It’d be better if I get those back, instead of having to go get ‘em from some evidence locker.” He somehow managed to sound threatening and ridiculous at the same time. 

“And your assault on Spiderman?” Black Widow demanded. “What were you trying to accomplish then?”

“Assault?!” Pool crowed, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You are trippin’, girlfriend! I smelled gas and knocked him to the ground before he could get flame broiled, that’s all.”

“That’s basically what happened, like I already told you,” Spiderman confirmed, trying not to get too irritated by the hostility being directed at the man who had saved his life. He reminded himself that not too long ago he was also repulsed by the merc’s very presence and highly suspicious of his motives. 

Deadpool fielded several more aggressive questions, managing to keep his answers consistent, if colorful. Spiderman finally got irritated enough to challenge his elders, “I think we’ve established that Deadpool wanted to go hare hunting, then stumbled upon saving my life. Can we get to the part of the debriefing where we get some explanation for killer bunnies and explosions in the middle of Times Square?”

Soto voche, Deadpool just had to comment, “Thank you. Couldn’ta said it better myself.” 

Then Captain America gave some complicated explanation about AIM animal experiments being set loose; Stark added some fringe science details about a central device that tied into chips implanted in all the rabbits; Natasha concluded that destroying the central device was the most feasible solution. Deadpool glanced suspiciously between them, trying to read more into their expressions than their words; but it only took Spiderman about five seconds to piece their bullshit together. “You’re saying that we set off the first explosion.”

Rogers nodded solemnly. “JARVIS directed me into the sewers, tracking the source. I knew I was under the street, but I didn’t have a visual before I triggered the explosives. There was always the possibility of someone getting caught in the blast.”  
Spiderman took a moment to accept that truth, but he knew that he would’ve likely made the same decision.

Deadpool, however, swung his head back and forth comically, looking between Captain America and Spiderman with mouth agape. “Is this amateur hour?! So you didn’t know your buddy was up top, been there, done that, blew up that poor bastard. But water, sewage, and gas leaks are a given after an urban underground explosions. Combine that with gunfire or a downed electrical line, and. . . BAMB! Flaming shit everywhere!” 

“Your expertise is always so helpful after the fact,” Natasha bit out.

“I’m still waiting for my invitation to the party, Spider babe numba two. Then you could have full access to my expertise, round the clock.” 

“In this case, wham, bam, no thanks man might be more appropriate,” Stark sniped, thinking he was witty. 

“Hey! Enough of this!” Spiderman scolded loudly, not even sure who he was talking to, just that he didn’t like it. 

“Are we almost done?” Deadpool whined.

The petty torture continued on like this for way too long. Sam showed up, with a long box, but just sat and listened. Eventually, Stark and Rogers started in on the whole issue of Deadpool showing up unannounced, and interrupting their coordinated attack, and that it had worked out this time, but that it in the future it actually makes the situation more dangerous to have a unaccounted superhuman in the fray –

“Hold up, hold up. Lemme get this straight. You’re telling me that, even if I see a massive invasion of Manhattan, people dying in the streets, and even if it looks like an all-hands-on-deck situation, I should not come help. That I should go mind my own business.”

Spiderman was scowling under his mask, and Rogers at least had the decency to look uncomfortable with his position, but the other two were quite open about their dislike. 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Natasha explained with deadly sincerity. “We’re all adults here, there’s no need to mince words. You’re too unreliable, not to mention a PR disaster. You’re more likely to get in our way and make our jobs harder than you are to help matters.”

Rogers nodded slowly, “People’s lives depend on us working together. We train together for these situations, Wade.” 

Spiderman noticed Pool’s head twitch a little at the use of his name, and he wondered what the boxes were saying as the mercenary stared at Captain America for a long moment. Spidey knew him well enough to recognize that outer silence often signaled inner turmoil. 

“That’s right,” Stark agreed pompously. “Even if you help, you hurt our cause just by association. We’ve put a lot of effort into maintaining a certain image. In sounds callous, I know, but it’s a matter of politics, of shaping the future for all of us, and for everyone else like us. How can we explain our connection to you? You kill human beings for money and amusement.”

For long seconds, Deadpool barely moved, tense and hard as stone. Finally he growled, angry but controlled as he glared at no one, “Message received, loud and clear. Next time the Skrulls invade, just let everyone rot.” 

He slowly got to his feet, like a mountain growing higher. When no one moved to stop him, he stepped away from the table and made a rude wanking motion. “I’m off then. I’ll just go amuse myself to the memory of this jerk circle.”

He left then, viciously quoting Monty Python to himself, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!”

Spiderman stopped just long enough to get something off Sam before following. Deadpool was waiting at the elevator, shifting his weight and flexing his arms as though agitated. “Hey, wait up.”

Deadpool turned away from him a little, getting closer to the elevator door. He hissed, “That was brutal, Spidey. I don’t think I’m fit for company.”

“Nonsense,” Spiderman reassured quietly. “You’re just feeling down because you got the thanks but no thanks speech from the Avengers. Welcome to the club. It sucks, cuz, you know, they’re so super self righteous about it, and you know that they’re only about half right, half of the time. We should commiserate together, over some gyros.” Spiderman raised his hands to offer the two swords that Sam had retrieved from Times Square. The handle wrappings were burnt, but other than that they looked good. 

Deadpool glanced at him, taking the katanas immediately as a grin grew under his mask. He sheathed them on his back, and seemed to straighten with renewed confidence and energy. “I’m still game if you are, baby boy! I’m definitely feeling peckish. A little ego evisceration can really work up a good appetite, amirite? It really carves out a good depression hole to fill with food! Of course, it’s nothing like actually getting eviscerated. Then the hunger and nausea have to duke it out. I do not recommend eating before one’s digestive system is fully repaired!”

The transformation pulled unexpectedly on Peter’s heartstrings, but he supposed that he shouldn’t be so surprised. He was clearly becoming emotionally compromised, yet he found that he didn’t care. Deadpool was a vibrant, exciting disruption in an otherwise lonely life of self-inflicted toil (at least, that’s what it felt like when he was being maudlin). In his determination to keep his head down and work hard, to juggle school and work and Spiderman, he had neglected the part of him that sought to enjoy life; that longed to connect with others and spend time being young and carefree. Now a tall man in black and red was making that impossible, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to regret it.


	6. Chapter 6

The food stand was at the edge of Central Park, so Spiderman paid for a rude number of gyros sandwiches and the two costumed men took their boxes into the park. The cleanup crew had done an amazing job, as there was barely a dead rabbit is sight. Whether because of it being late morning, or because it was the day after the attack, the Park was not yet overrun with people and it was easy to locate a free picnic bench in an uncrowded area. Deadpool was a master of ignoring stares, they bounced off him like heavy basketballs (okay, it hurt to take one to the head), but he could tell Spiderman had felt uncomfortable with the glances and pointed fingers they’d gotten on the street. 

[[Not our fault for once. He’s probably getting more attention than us. If he had any brains, we’d’ve gone some place inside.]]

“Don’t let it bother you, Spidey,” Deadpool directed, taking a seat and immediately opening his gyros box. “Most people are so self-absorbed, they’ll literally forget about seeing you within ten minutes. Especially here in NYC, where every other person is a minor celebrity.”

Spiderman sat across from the other man, looking around one last time before opening his own container. He inhaled deeply and appeared to relax slightly. “You’re right, of course. The attention just makes me nervous. I know it’s crazy, but it’s like I’m afraid a lynch mob is going to come up and rip off my mask. You know, expose me.”

[I’d certainly like to rip off your costume and expose you, but you can leave the mask on. Remember that song, ♪♬ you can leeeave your hat on! ♪♬?]

Deadpool lifted his mask up to his nose and covered his exposed mouth, then with the other large hand he picked up a gyro. He inhaled his gyro in much the same way he had demolished a dozen burritos a few weeks ago. “I getchu,” he replied mid-chew. “But don’t worry, baby boy. I’ll help you protect your virginity, uh, I mean mystery, if it comes to that.”

Spiderman watched for moment, then pulled his own mask up to his nose, revealing an amused smile. Then it was Deadpool’s turn to stare for a second before the smile faded and the other man started in on his food at a more reasonable speed. When Spidey finally spoke, it was with his own partially full mouth, “So you really don’t know my name or what I look like? Still?”

Deadpool shook his head vigorously and swallowed loudly. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter to me. We’re just ships passing in the night, amirite? No need for names and faces and that shit.”

After a considering pause, Spiderman ventured, “Though I guess now I know your name.”

[[Thanks, Stark, you asshole.]]

Deadpool tackled his second sandwich with an offhand shrug. “Yeah, Iron Man is a total cock blocking yenta.” He affected a snotty voice, “Wwwould youw wather we call youw Waaade? Let me dig up all your cold shriveled dick pics and send them to every crush you’ve ever had.” 

Large chunks of onion and gyros meat fell onto the table from behind Deadpool’s covering hand and Spiderman laughed at the display, trying not to choke on his own food. Wade stopped chewing for a moment to take in the second smile, thrown even further by its reappearance. Had the other man just smiled at him twice in a row? 

[[It defies credibility. This could be a hallucination.]]

“Stark’s cool, he’s helped me out a lot with school,” Peter countered, before conceding, “But he can also be a scheming know-it-all, definitely.” 

It physically hurt to say, but it was too obvious to ignore. “I’m sure he’ll show you a picture too, if you ask. But you’ll wish you hadn’t, when you see it.”

Apparently that was not the right thing to say, because now Spidey was looking at him with lips downturned. “Maybe,” he answered softly. “But as you said, it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Riiight,” Pool agreed reluctantly, waiting for the trap.

[[Either we’re hallucinating, or Spidey’s certifiable for believing that.]]

[I know! Let’s keep ’im.]

“And while we’re on the topic. . . You don’t have to cover your mouth either, you know. It doesn’t bother me.”

“What doesn’t bother you?” Deadpool asked, mouth stuffed full. 

[[Smooth, brah. When in doubt, pretend we don’t know what he’s talking about. At least no one ever underestimates our stupidity.]]

[Shut up, Yellow, and enjoy the damn moment. Even if it isn’t real. He’s about to say something nice to us again!]

Spiderman swallowed and shrugged, before continuing carefully, “None of it. I doubt either of us really cares about table manners, as long as you can avoid showering me with food. And, uh. . . well, I know you have some skin condition or something that you don’t like to show people, but I don’t care about that either. You don’t need to cover your mouth. Unless you want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Just. . . you don’t have to hide anything for my sake. Especially not injuries, like yesterday.”

Deadpool was tempted to drop his hand right then, just for the shock value, but he didn’t really want to shock Spidey. Whitey was right, Spiderman had said something nice to him, and the experience was both warming and unsettling, and contributed to his growing disorientation. 

[[Definitely experiencing auditory hallucinations. We need to shut this down before we really humiliate ourselves.]]

He stuffed the last bit of sandwich in his mouth, despite the knot in his stomach. “Hey, have you seen Aliens?”

“Haven’t we all?” Spiderman glanced around quickly, as though the topic alone would bring forth the otherworldly invaders. “Between the Chintari and the Skrulls, I doubt there are any uninitiated left in the City proper.”

“You’re right about that,” Deadpool agreed, lowering his mask over his mouth and then brushing his gloved hands together to clean them. “But I was talking about the movie.” 

[Yesss! Do it, DP. Come on come on come on. Do it!]

“Oh yeah, of course. It’s a classic.”

Deadpool pulled a black, carbon fiber dagger out of a thigh holster. Spidey, to his credit, only leaned back a couple inches in his seat, and just watched with obvious interest as Deadpool placed his right hand palm down on the table. He then used the dagger to carefully mark out points on either side of the prone hand and between each finger.

“Don’t tell me, you’re an android,” Spidey deadpanned, wiping his hands and mouth before pulling his own mask back down. “That would really explain a lot.”

“Like Bender from Futurama?” Deadpool asked with an abrupt grin, but then he was concentrating on his movements as they quickly sped up. Within seconds, the dagger was jumping and weaving between large fingers, faster than should’ve been possible for a human. The knife point hit the wood table with such rhythmic speed that it sounded like automatic gunfire in the distance. It was a mesmerizing trick, and Deadpool could normally entertain himself for long minutes seeing how fast and long he could keep it up. Today, however, he had a different purpose.

He sharply and suddenly altered the pattern of his movements, pulling the dagger back, almost over his shoulder, and then ramming it down hard through the center of his palm. 

[FUCK YEAH that hurts!]

“Holy hell!” Spiderman shouted, jerking to his feet like a startled cat.  
Deadpool used a little muscle to dislodge the dagger from the table below his hand, then held up the injured limb as though trying to peer through the hole (which was decidedly not possible). Blood was pulsing slowly out of the torn leather of the gloves, matching its red color perfectly. Frowning, he mumbled to himself, “Hunh. . . Howzit feel to be wrong, fuckface?”

[Nanny nanny nahnah! I’m right, you’re wrong!]

Spiderman scrambled over the table, grabbing the other man’s wrist to inspect the wound, and unintentionally diverting Deadpool’s attention to the hypnotizing proximity of his face. “You don’t have to worry about me, remember?” Wade reminded softly, eyes slowly tracing the contours of the spider mask. He could make out frown lines under the thin material. “It’ll heal.”

“But it still hurts, right?” Spidey asked, voice low and confused as he watched the blood flow slow. 

“A little.”

“Then why?”

Deadpool shrugged weakly, inexplicably reluctant to pull his hand back from Spidey’s uncomfortable inspection. “Why not?” he reached. “Maybe I just want to live out my Nick Cave fantasies. You know, be the tall dark man with a red right hand?”

After a moment of silence, Spiderman looked up at the other man, still not letting go his wrist even as he settled more permanently on the table. “Don’t play it off that way, I don’t even get that reference. If I have to watch you mutilate yourself, then I wanna understand. Were you talking to one of the boxes just then?”

Deadpool inhaled deeply, trying to form the words that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete wackjob. He didn’t like talking about the boxes, it made him feel sickeningly vulnerable, but he had already opened up to Spidey about them once before. “It’s stupid, really. Yellow keeps insisting that we’re hallucinating, and this was a good way to prove or disprove the rat bastard.”

[[Sure. Blame me and Whitey for all our bad decisions.]]

Spidey was still holding his wrist, keeping him close; and his position the table, with the taller man still on the bench, had Deadpool situated between his legs. It was an awkwardly intimate arrangement, allowing Spidey to study him closely and openly. Was his mask even still on? If he’d gone with his combat mask, the comforting pressure of the thin leather would’ve left no doubt. He reached his good hand up to make sure the spandex was still there, and he was sure Spiderman’s eyes tracked the movement from below his own mask. 

“Does that happen a lot? Hallucinations, I mean.”

[[Be honest now, don’t just dump everything on me. You’re five hundred pounds of crazy in a two fifty bag.]]

Deadpool cringed and twitched, wanting to pull away and yet. . . not. “Hmmm, sometimes, I guess? Not everyday, usually, but it depends. Like yesterday, I, uh, ha ha, you’re gonna laugh. Cuz, no way, I know. I should’ve known I was hallucinating, but sometimes it’s just so real. Then Yellow and Whitey spent all evening debating my mental health, which is so not fair. I mean, insider trading, much?” 

“Wait, what? You were hallucinating during the fight?” Spiderman’s grip tightened on his wrist, but his palm was almost fully healed and it felt more grounding than restraining.

“What? No!” Deadpool spluttered. “Well, yes, I did go into video game mode for a while there with the rabbits. But that’s normal for me, I totally knew what was going on. It’s always a negative million points for shooting a civilian! Negative two million for a friendly.”

“O-kay. I’m going to put that disturbing statement aside for the moment, cuz I’m hopelessly confused.” Spiderman let go of Deadpool to rub his temples, and the mercenary touched his freed wrist with a strange sense of loss. “What were you hallucinating yesterday? And what did you think you were hallucinating today?”

[[Don’t tell him that we thought we hallucinated his smile. Despite popular belief, our life is not a trashy Victorian romance novel!]]

[How bout we swoon? Then we don’t have to give any embarrassing answers.]

Deadpool waited a beat, but when he failed to magically faint, he tried again to explain his own confusion regarding yesterday. “Again, ha ha, you’re gonna think this is so ridiculous. I’m laughing just thinking about it. Catch this: right before you left, a super studly Spidey hallucination kissed me. Like, totally looked like you, except maybe twice as hot? No! Like three times as hot. And smelled like cookie dough.” 

Spidey was back to studying him like a bug under a magnifying glass, and Deadpool’s fingers crept up again to check his mask. This time Spidey reached out, and lightly covered the thicker glove where it brushed his jaw. “But, Wade,” he said quietly, sounding both amused and embarrassed. “I kissed you last night.”

[Eat your evil black heart out, Yellow!]

Wade wished for a second that they didn’t have to wear their masks, so they could make the real eye contact they kept trying for; but it was fanciful, like wishing the ocean pink. The wheels in his brain spun, but no one could find anything to say and it was silent for once. Responding to the lack of a smack down, as well as the warm contact on his jaw, Deadpool shifted his head slightly into their entwined fingers, copping a little nuzzle without much conscious intent.

Then he froze, because Spidey was leaning forward, closing the short distance between them, and laying his covered cheek against Deadpool’s. He was vaguely aware of a knee shifting to the bench, but mostly he was absorbed by the soft feel of spandex rubbing gently together, of warm breath on his ear, of a hand resting on his neck for balance and leverage. Unused to such sensitivity, Pool felt everything, the brush of Spidey’s nose against his ear, the sweep of his lips across his cheek, the bump of their brows; he submerged himself in the sensations as to not think about what Spidey could feel of his own rough skin.  
Deadpool could’ve stayed like that for a very long time, but Spiderman eventually pulled back and glanced around. Deadpool couldn’t bring himself to care about his surroundings, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of the costumed hero. 

[That happened. That totally happened!]

“It’s hard to believe, between the knifing and the canoodling,” Spiderman chuckled. “But none of the three people braving Central Park right now appear to care enough to even watch. I’m almost offended. Did they miss us machine gunning killer rabbits on the front page of the Bugle today?”

Deadpool gave a weak, kinda dazed smile that matched his unsteady voice. “So we’re canoodling now?”

Spiderman shrugged, and he maneuvered off the bench and stood. “Maybe. Is it alright if we just take this slow, see what happens? I’m still feeling this all out myself. I’ve never, you know, done anything like this with a guy before.”

“No, slow is good,” Deadpool agreed quickly, looking up at the other man on the seemingly permanent pedestal. He probably would’ve agreed to anything at this point, including an entire relationship based on platonic nuzzling and blue balls. “You’re welcome to, uh, feel me out, or up, or whatever, any time.”

“Right now I gotta head to work. Classes were called off because of the attack, but there’s no rest for those of us that have to make money. Unfortunately, I don’t really have a lot of free time.”

[[I sense an excuse about to drop. Wait for it. . .]]

Deadpool nodded and got to his feet, gathering their substantial garbage as he listened for some explanation for why they wouldn’t be seeing each other any time soon. Spidey followed him to the garbage can. “But if you wanted to, we could maybe patrol together tomorrow night?”

Deadpool dumped the rubbish then squinted at him, trying to understand yet another unexpected overture from Spidey. 

[[Since we’ve ruled out ongoing hallucinations on our part, I’m gonna go with serious concussion from yesterday’s fight. He could also have been replaced by either a Skrull or a Life-Model Decoy.]]

[Who cares? Things are going our way for once.]

“I’ll go ahead and say, Hell Yeah! Though I should also warn you: Yellow thinks you’ve got a concussion, but hasn’t ruled out the possibility that you’re not the real Spiderman. He still doesn’t believe anything you say.”

“As we’ve established, Yellow’s an asshole who doesn’t believe anything good of anyone,” Spiderman replied, apparently taking the open and ongoing insanity in stride. Together they moved to leave the Park. “What does Whitey think?”

“He doesn’t care if you’re nuts or a fake, he’s just happy that you’re tolerating us for the moment,” Pool explained with intentional nonchalance, wondering why he had returned to this squirm-inducing topic.

“I guess that’s a better attitude than hostility and paranoia. But you gotta know that I don’t generally, um, canoodle with people I can barely tolerate.”

[I told you he digs our ass-ets!]

Spiderman glanced at him, but Deadpool kept his eyes purposely forward. He was honestly at a loss as to an appropriate reaction to Spidey’s open expressions of caring, and the boxes were no help. They walked in weighted silence for a minute, until they had exited Central Park. Spidey stopped then, sounding a little nervous and rambly as he ventured, “How about we go out early tomorrow? Say elevenish? I’m gonna need some sleep tonight, gotta pull an all nighter to finish this biophysics paper. I’m thinking to meet on top of the La Condessa, unless you have a better idea?”

“Sure. It’s a date, baby boy.” Deadpool tried to smile like his normal self, despite feeling like his whole body was a dense knot of confusion, excitement, and trepidation. He just knew something bad was going to happen. Yellow was right about that, something bad always happened. 

“Great.” Spiderman turned to leave, but only made it a couple steps before stopping and turning back. “Hey, one last thing.”

“Shoot.” Deadpool had been watching him go, so he was quick to draw his hands out to mimic handguns, even as he cringed a little inside. 

“Do you not like it when anyone uses your name? Or just Avenging douchebags?”

That was a good question, and Deadpool wasn’t sure of the answer. He didn’t hate his name or anything, he just didn’t like when others wielded it like a weapon. “I dunno. I just. . . would rather be Deadpool most of the time. Even though I don’t remember all of it, Wade comes with a lot of baggage. Like whole suitcases full of dirty undies, breakable knickknacks, and rabid bats. The only baggage Deadpool comes with is Wade, but he’s boxed up, see?. . . Does that make sense?”

Spiderman nodded. “Sure, as much as vampire rabbits and the existence of Thor, anyway. . . I’ll see you tomorrow night, Pool.”

Deadpool watched Spidey leave, conflicted but not so much that he didn’t admire the display of muscular thighs, topped with a stellar ass like a star on a Christmas tree. Deadpool let out a big sigh of relief, tension easing. 

[We’ve got it bad, DP. We need to be careful.]

[[Thaaank you, what I’ve been saying here! Plus, he knows way too much about us. Our name, where we live, the ugly details of our mental health. Yet we know next to nothing about him. He could be a psychopath for all we know.]]

“Like that would be such a bad thing for us,” Deadpool muttered with sarcastic irritation. “Bonnie and Clyde is pretty much the best case scenario here.”

[Sounds good to me.]

“He’s not a psychopath. He’s a real hero.”

[[Maybe. But real heroes don’t consort with the likes of us. I’m telling you, he’s warped in some way. We need to find out more.]]

[If we go digging on our own, Spidey is gonna be pissed! Then we definitely won’t get no sugar. Can’t we just go in blind, and brace for the worst?]  
Deadpool shrugged. “That is our usual strategy, and we ain’t dead yet.”

[[Aaand, queue the Styx.]]

[♪♬ You knocked me to the floor then you bit me in the neck; well, hit me again cuz I’m not dead yet! ♪♬]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for self-injury.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter raced home, changed into his civilian wear, and then managed to get to the office without being late. Jameson still chewed him out a little before sending him off to get pictures of the anti-cruelty folks who were apparently staging a protest after the “white rabbit massacre”. They were an eccentric bunch, always good for some nutty pictures, though Peter was a rather disgusted with their priorities today. Dozens of people had died yesterday because of AIM’s little experiments gone wrong; he would’ve probably died if it hadn’t been for Deadpool. 

Still, he did his job and was on his way as soon as he could. He did some reading for school as he took the trains to Aunt May’s house to check on her, what with all the upheaval. As she had stated on the phone, she was fine, and more worried about him living in Brooklyn, just across the bridge from the midtown Manhattan chronic disaster zone. At least he managed to decompress a little and eat an excellent, home cooked meal. Then on the train back to his place, he tried to take a nap before his all nighter. His dozing was restless and his tired mind finally landed on the one topic he had been purposely avoiding. What the hell was he doing? Even if getting involved with an unstable mercenary wasn’t a completely terrible idea, he didn’t have time to juggle that bag of cats in addition to his own responsibilities. So what if he found the guy funny, and cute, and sympathetic; so what if he felt some kind of connection? A real adult would make the responsible decision, right? No violent crazies, thank you! 

So why was he performing complex mental gymnastics to find every reason to excuse Deadpool’s bad behavior, to minimize his mental health challenges, to view him in the most compassionate light? And what, exactly, was the point of all this self-doubt? Clearly he had already committed to pursuing something with Deadpool, as there was no other explanation for the most recent, catch all justification: it was simply too late to back out now. He refused to jerk Pool around, that was the one thing he didn’t deserve.

He stumbled into his tiny apartment, and went straight for his computer. He was feeling a great deal of self-pity at that point. 

! ^_^ !

The following day passed in an exhausted blur of droning classes and irritating work, but at least the paper was done and his boss was busy haranguing someone else. When Peter finally got home that evening, he prepared a box of mac n’ cheese and ate all of it; then he passed out face first on his bed. He was definitely going to need some shut eye if he was going to survive patrolling with the live wire that was Deadpool. Sleep came quickly, like a divine blessing.

Peter woke with a start. It was quite dark in his apartment and he wasn’t sure what had woken him at first. A quick glance at his bedside clock revealed that it was almost midnight. Then he heard the distinct, vibrating thud of something hitting his window, and the puzzle pieces fell into place. He grabbed a mask from his drawer, pulled it over his head, then stumbled over his backpack on his way to the window. Sure enough, there were three small pink suction cups clinging to his window. After briefly scanning through the pane for threats, Spiderman opened the window and inspected one, but it was clearly missing whatever was supposed to be attached to it. Then he looked more carefully at the nightscape. Across the street and down two buildings, there was a familiar broad shape clad in red and waving. Peter was still really groggy, he couldn’t deny the excitement that pulsed through him on seeing the merc. His heart beat picked up and his extremities tingled. 

Peter made a couple gestures, indicating that Deadpool should wait for him, though he doubted the other man could see that far. He scrambled to change into his last clean costume (he’d just add laundry to his never ending list of things to do), then he scanned his surroundings again before climbing out on the fire escape. A couple web lines later, he dropped into a half-crouch next to Deadpool before rising into a vertical position. 

The other man was bouncing his weight from foot to foot, and raised his hands in surrender when Spiderman looked at him. Spiderman noticed the same punctured glove from the previous morning, though he had traded his softer mask for his leather combat mask. Spidey didn’t have a chance to even open his gob before Deadpool was running off at the mouth, “Definitely not stalking, I swear. It’s just that you were kinda late, and Yellow was pretty convincing that you were standing me up, but then I got to thinking about what a hero you are, and what if you stopped to help someone, or someone came after you, and what if you needed help? So I just wanted to check on you, but I see you’re okay, so I can, like, fuck off now if you want. Definitely not stalking.” 

Deadpool opened his mouth to keep talking, but then appeared to stop himself and forcibly wait for a response. 

“I wasn’t standing you up. I just overslept, that’s all. And you don’t have to fuck off, we’re going patrolling, right?”

“Sure.”Deadpool punched his right fist into his left palm, creating a dramatic slapping sound. “Let’s paint this town red!”

Spiderman frowned in sudden concern, taking in the katanas on Deadpool’s back and two large guns strapped to his strapping thighs. He hadn’t given it much thought, but his mental gymnastics had basically assumed that the mercenary chose to be morally flexible – not that the morality, or even the control, was completely beyond his grasp. Was he even safe to take out on the streets? He remembered Deadpool’s earlier comment about “video game mode” and losing a million points for killing the wrong person.

“You get that we are not killing anyone, right? Not even the bad guys. This is strictly an incapacitate and capture situation.”

“Right on, Spidey. I’ve got your em oh. Uh, not because I stalked you for weeks or anything.” His head tucked down and in briefly, his volume coming down a couple notches. “Fuck, can we please shut up about the stalking already?” 

Peter figured he was talking to himself, which was as amusing yet worrisome as always. Common sense warred with sympathy for a moment before finding a compromise. “It’s just that your arsenal is making me a little nervous. Can we leave the swords and guns here?”

“Uuuhhh, hmmm. I really wanna say, ‘Anything you want, Spidey.’ Big Boi and Black Betty are basically friends, but I’d dump them for you. I’m sure some busybody would give then a good home. My babies, though. . . I just got them back.” Then he unsheathed both katanas and struck a combat ready pose for a pause while he checked that he had Spiderman’s attention. Satisfied on that front, he sprung into action, unleashing an extreme demonstration of flexibility and acrobatics. He leapt, twisted and flipped about the roof, swinging and stabbing with the constant movement of controlled chaos. Within less than a minutes he was done, then proceeded to kiss each blade with adoration. “Do I make these things look good or what?” 

Spiderman was impressed, and would’ve been happy to watch the impressive display of skill and physique for much longer. As it was, he had to consciously close his mouth and refocus on the issue at hand. “How about I leave them in my apartment for safe keeping? Guns too.”

Deadpool glanced up at him in surprise. “Okay.”

He sheathed the katanas, then gave the scabbards and the thigh holsters to Spiderman. Then he reached into a shadow to retrieve something that looked like a giant flare gun. “Oh, and this thing.”

“What’s that?” Spiderman asked, taking it awkwardly as he was already laden with weapons.

“It launches those pink suction cup bombs I pelted your window with. But don’t worry, I removed the explosives first.”

“Of course,” Spidey replied with a sigh before carrying the arsenal to the ledge that faced his fire escape. A couple minutes later he was back on the roof with Deadpool, who now looked a lot less Rambo and a little crestfallen about that fact.

“You’ve unmanned me, Spidey,” he complained so petulantly that Peter had to laugh. “I’m a eunuch.”

“I doubt that is even possible, literally or metaphorically.”

Deadpool shrugged, but became unreadable in his silence.

“I usually rotate through the shadier parts of the city. Wanna swing over to Queens?” Spiderman offered, hoping it would be an acceptable trade off. 

“Yes,” came the immediate reply, sulky but eager at the same time.

Spiderman grinned, pleased with developments and already having a good time. He placed one foot up on the ledge and beckoned Pool to come hither, “Hold on then.”

He couldn’t say why, but it felt different this time when Pool wrapped his arms around his collar. The other man smelled cleaner than usual, but his grip also felt more confident and his weight more reassuring. Spidey wasn’t surprised when Deadpool lightly nuzzled his nape, but it still gave him goosebumps. He had done the same thing their last trip like this, when his back had been scorched black. Despite the merc’s efforts, Spiderman had seen the grizzly burns and split skin before it had healed, and had been willing to offer any small comfort wanted (including kissing him). He had liked the nuzzling then, just as he liked it now.

Once in Queens, Deadpool let go and they parkoured more carefully over the rooftops. Spiderman was impressed at how well the big man kept up with him. Then they followed the sound of shouting to a drunken brawl in the alley behind the bar.

“Let the do-gooding spree begin!” Deadpool exclaimed with a loud clap. Together they broke the four men apart, then Deadpool stood like an intimidating wall between them while Spiderman told them off. The entire experience was quick and quite satisfying, if on the tame side. A good warm up.

Next up they came across a pushy asshole who didn’t want to take no for an answer, and interrupted him before he got too far. After he webbed the man to the wall, Spiderman tried to comfort the young woman, but she ran away after only a few words. When she was gone, Deadpool suddenly transformed from mountain to tornado, shouldering Spiderman aside to get to the asshole. He ripped him out of the webbing, then turned him around to slam him face first against the brick wall.

“How do you like being powerless, pervert? You see, I think deviants like you are actually the ones asking for it.” Deadpool spat, voice gravelly and threatening. He used his boots to kick the man’s legs apart then grind his hips into his ass, hard. “I’m obsessed with revenge porn.”

Spiderman was shocked into inaction for long moment, disturbed and conflicted and just a little turned on by the turn of events. Revenge porn was exactly what it looked like. “Deadpool, what. . .”

But he trailed off as Deadpool again rocked his cup into the smaller body, leather mask rubbing against the man’s cheek in a repulsively familiar way, even as threats continued to pour out of his mouth, “Rapists really rev my engine though. My prick’s as hard as adamantium right now, can you feel it? The best thing about rapists: they’re such sluts and yet always have tight virgin holes to violate.”

Spiderman had just reached out to stop him when Deadpool spun the pervert around, planted a foot on his back, and pushed him towards the street; then he laughed loudly and maliciously, like a cartoon villain. “Pissed himself already! Look at him, he’s terrified!”

Sure enough, Spiderman could pick up the scent of piss as the asshole ran away. He felt relieved, but also disoriented and alarmed by the whole experience. It took him long seconds to find rational words, and even then his voice was a little unsteady. “I would’ve liked to hand him over to the cops so he couldn’t do this again.”

“I’m sorry,” Deadpool apologized easily, completely unconcerned by his behavior. “Perverts like that really piss me off, you know? Give me a mass murderer or mad scientist any day. Its’s not like the cops wouldn’t’ve done anything anyway.” 

They probably should’ve called it an early night at that but then they heard the sound of gun shots. Several blocks away they found a turf war, at a glance it appeared to by three Gangster Disciples and four members of the Tracksuit Mafia. Spiderman felt a little bad that he had made Deapool leave his guns, as he saw him dodge a couple bullets and take one more to the chest before using his hands to “incapacitate” the Disciples. Spiderman had an easier time of it using his webs to tie up the Mafia, then he alerted the police on their way out of the area. 

After that success, spirits were high on both sides and it was easy to forget the earlier unpleasantness, though Spiderman could no longer deny his very real fatigue. Deadpool on the other hand was bouncing on his toes and clearly eager to keep going. Standing next to his tall companion on the roof ledge, looking out over the nightscape, Spidey reluctantly admitted, “We should probably head back to my place so you can get your stuff. I need to get some sleep before tomorrow tries to kill me.”  
Deadpool stilled in disappointment, but then the bouncing started up again. “How bout a race? No webs, of course.” 

The proposal sounded like mildly challenging fun; Deadpool was amazingly fast, though not quite Spiderman’s preternaturally fast. They were on the edge of Queens anyway, his apartment in Brooklyn only a dozen blocks away. Spiderman nodded, but was given no further warning as Deadpool immediately sprinted across the roof and leapt across the street. While the distance might have been achievable by a human Olympian, even an Olympian would’ve limped away from the fall with a couple broken bones. Whatever the case here, Deadpool fell to his knees but was back on his feet and running in seconds. 

“Oh, shit!” Spiderman cried, springing into motion as he dashed to catch up.

Deadpool was quick, and had some fantastic, acrobatic moves, but he consistently lost time whenever he had to gain altitude. Spiderman caught up within a couple blocks, scaling the side of a building where Deadpool had to take the fire escape. He wondered if the merc would give up, now that he had been surpassed, but he was not disappointed to see a determined Deadpool charging across the roof at full speed.

The race continued, felt more like a chase now, and Spiderman’s body surged with adrenaline and excitement. Maybe he even took a tad longer climbing walls, in order to prolong the game. As he neared his block, he was breathless and laughing. Deadpool had to know he was being teased, but he kept up the effort til the very end, when the unbelievable happened.

While glancing behind him, he saw Deadpool reach for his belt and then – disappear. Spiderman turned his head and shoulders even farther, slowing while still sorta running in the opposite direction, only to stumble right into something big and solid. He basically bounced off and landed on his ass, wheeling for a moment as he pieced it all together. Deadpool, meanwhile, was still managing a sprint, powerful legs and buttocks pumping away like a horse’s. 

“Shit!” Spiderman staggered to his feet and dashed after him, but he already knew that it was too late. A minute later he joined the mercenary where he was sitting on the fire escape, legs hanging off the edge and looking away from Spiderman’s window.  
Glancing at each other, Deadpool pledged, not even breathing heavy, “I didn’t peak in, I swear.”

Spidey ignored that in favor of poking his shoulder and ribbing, “You’ve been holding out on me, using me for joyrides. You have some kind of teleportation device?”

“Yeah. Well, sometimes. It only works short visual distances, and it’s kinda glitchy. Guaranteed to fail completely when you need it most.”

“What about that time with the zip line?” Spidey asked suspiciously. 

“You mean the time we were. . . trapped in the closet?”

“Yes, R. Kelly. That time.”

“Well, I have always wanted to zipline from Chase to Oscorp. Ziplining is the shit, almost as cool as flying. And the positioning of those buildings is perfect, which is almost an impossibility at that height. As soon as I saw you swinging up, I knew it was fate. But I was never going to climb back up the zipline. And I probably wouldn’t’ve needed to splat neither.”

“Didn’t think so.” Peter took a silent moment to consider the state of his apartment. He didn’t have any photographs out, but there were definitely identifying documents in a couple places. He probably wouldn’t see anything, since Peter wouldn’t let him out of his sight, but would it be the end of the world if he did? It was a treacherous, tantalizing thought. “If you swear not to snoop, you can come in for a minute to get your things.”

Pool looked over at him like he was nuts. “Really? I swear, absolutely. Cross my heart and. . . hope to live forever. No snooping.” “Even though I snooped around your place?”

Deadpool gave a little laugh. “Yes. I don’t expect fair treatment, Spidey. We’re not comparable.”

Spiderman bumped their shoulders together, as much as possible given their different heights. “Jeez, Pool. Dark and moody much?”

“All the time.”

“Come on in.” Spiderman got to his feet.

“Okay.” Deadpool followed Spiderman through the window, not moving far into the room but glancing around gingerly. When he spotted his babies laying on the bed, he sat next to them and picked them up, admiring them for a moment. “Sorry, my dears.” 

He sheathed the swords on his back and was reaching for the guns when Spiderman sat close to him on the bed. The younger man knew he was being uncharacteristically bold, but he was also horny and Deadpool’s low self esteem made it easy to feel confident. Was that wrong? He licked his lip, unthinkingly wetting the spandex. “Any chance you want to lift our masks a little and make out like teenagers?”

Deadpool seemed to shrink just a little at the question and Peter knew immediately where he had made a mistake. He felt a stab of guilt, he should’ve predicted this issue; but he also felt pretty disappointed. For a moment they both slumped unhappily, then Deadpool tried to pull himself up a bit and ventured, “I could touch you. Just over the suit, nothing too hinky.”

Peter’s dick hardened at the idea. “Only if I can touch you the same way.”

Pool shrugged indifferently. “The leather is pretty thick.” He reached out a leather glove to brush fingers gently up Spidey’s inner arm. “Not like feeling through this stuff.”

Goosebumps rose across all limbs, even as he cautiously placed his own hand on Deadpool’s thigh. Between the leather and muscle he might as well have been touching sun warmed marble. “I know. I like your other mask better.”

“Yeah?” Deadpool sounded pleased at that, his fingers running slowly along the curve of Spidey’s shoulder and across his collarbone as the younger man tried not to squirm. “It’s a little light, but it’s sure easier on the skin.”

Spidey traced the strong leg muscle down to the knee, then moved his hand up to those impressive abs. The red leather was a little looser there and it was easier to feel the hard body underneath. His own nipples tightened as a larger hand, wearing a rougher glove, brushed a line between his pecs and past his sternum. Spidey reached up to barely touch the dried blood around the bullet hole in his left shoulder of the leather costume. Maybe three more inches center mass and it could’ve punctured his Pool’s immortal heart. “Does it still hurt?”

“No more than usual. It’s healed.” Deadpool’s glove trickled down to his hip and squeezed, and Spidey couldn’t help dropping his eyes to see the large hand so close to the bulge of his dick. There is no way Wade couldn’t see its interest.  
Spidey swallowed dryly, hands feathering over the solid chest as he managed enough breath to venture, “Does it usually hurt?”

“It’s the cancer thing,” Deadpool replied softly with indifference, watching his own fingers brush down his hip to splay on Spiderman’s thigh. “It just generally aches and stings, I’m used to it.”

The merc’s hand span was almost as wide as Peter’s leaner leg, positioning his little finger very close Peter’s throbbing cock. Peter moaned briefly before cutting the sound off in embarrassment. Pool chuckled and brought his other hand around to gently push Peter’s body backwards until he was lying back on the bed. Then he somehow also managed to pretzel his large mass in the single bed, curled up on his side and pressed up against Spidey, with easy access to the red and blue planes of the other’s body. 

“You’re incredible, Spidey,” Deadpool murmured with audible awe. “Like literally fantastical. I’ve, uh, actually had this exact fantasy before. It’s like I’m like starring in my own porn, readers will love that. . .” 

Pool drug his warm palms along Peter’s ribs in a gesture more comforting than sexual, especially coupled with the familiar bump of Pool’s head against the crook of his neck. Peter’s mind still flashed to earlier in the evening, when Deadpool had threatened and intimidated the would-be rapist with the same intimate move. The thought disturbed him at the same time as it titillated, then was left behind as the leather glove traveled across his chest to rest on the far nipple, squeezing gently. The nub tightened further, tingling, and Spidey’s chest arched into the attention.

“Is this okay?” Deadpool asked, sounding serious for once. He had propped himself on his elbow, but Spidey couldn’t tell if he was looking at his face or the grip his rough gloves had on the delicate, scantly protected nipple.

“Yes,” Spidey replied immediately, voice husky with arousal and body lit up like the Fourth of July. 

The fingers proceeded to pinch and pull the sensitive nub, carefully at first but then more abusively. When Pool twisted, pleasure rocketed through Peter and hips writhed in desperation. He barely had time to feel the mortification before it was interrupted by a large hand cradling his entire package, fingertips resting under his testicles. 

“And what about this, is this okay?” Wade graveled quietly, serious and seductive and so close. This time, from inches away, it was obvious that the merc was studying his masked face. 

Was this okay? Peter’s body was screaming, all speed ahead!, but was it too much too fast? What did that even mean, except how far did he trust Deadpool? He didn’t have answers to these questions, and it wasn’t something he could share, so he asked, 

“Can I call you Wade? Just sometimes, I mean.”

“It’s not a trade off. You can call me Wade, or Pool, or Deadpool. Or anything you want as long as it’s not too mean. I’ve got thin skin, you know.” It was a joke, sorta, but Spidey didn’t linger. He covered Wade’s hand with his and used the leverage to push his dick into the too loose grip. 

“Eager. Hmmm, I like that.” Deadpool rubbed his leather mask against Spidey’s softer cheek, while the stiff gloves curled carefully around his shaft to start a strong, casual rhythm. “I’m won’t tease you, baby boy. You’re already so hard. . . Whitey, beet tee double-yuh, is crooning an affectionate, if cringe worthy rendition of Aerosmith’s Don’t Want to Miss A Thing. I think he sees us acting out the video.”

Peter chuckled and joked breathlessly, “You’d make a great Liv Tyler. I can survive being Ben Affleck.” 

The grip on his dick then tightened a fraction, creating an amazing pressure but also a thrill of fear. With the thick leather gloves on, it would be easy for Pool to misjudge the force he was exerting on Spidey’s sensitive appendage, to twist or squeeze or pull too hard. But Pool had no difficulties operating within his combat suit, and Spidey quickly came to appreciate the tantalizing vulnerability of the situation. “Oh, fuck, Wade. That feels incredible.” 

No one had ever made him the focus of a sexual experience before, nor had he ever felt so desired. He honestly didn’t think he’d ever been as turned on in his entire life. Was it just because it had been so long? Or is this what he had been missing by only sleeping with girls? Maybe partially, but Peter doubted either explanation. There were too many unique things about Deadpool and the current situation, things that obviously turned him on. Maybe he was just a kinky bastard.

Eventually Peter’s body began to tense, and Pool stroked him faster, nuzzling close and rubbing up against his leg despite the cup. His voice was hot and buzzing in his ear, “Oh, Spidey, you’re a wildcat! You’re gonna cum for us, I can tell.” 

Peter couldn’t help it, he moaned loudly as his orgasm slammed through him with little warning, spine arching into it. The firm hand cusped his cock as it pulsed several times and flooded the inside of the spandex costume; the hand smoothed upward as his cock softened and his body relaxed.

“That was amazing,” Peter admitted, mind a little blown. 

Wade chuckled, gloves brushing up his ribs to finger the closer, previously neglected nipple. He casually played with it for several seconds, and watching it tighten, before replying, “I aim to please.”

Spidey didn’t doubt that at all, despite what others might think of Deadpool. He turned on his side so that he could look into Wade’s face, as much as possible while both wearing masks. “What about you? How can I be of service?”

The other man groaned loudly. “Fuck, I have this other fantasy that totally starts that way. . . You’re kinda driving me crazy here, Spidey.” But then he rolled away, swinging his feet off the bed and sitting up. “This, ah, cup is actually pretty uncomfortable right now, and it’s difficult to remove with all the leather.” 

His voice dropped and slowed for a moment, “Shut up. Yes, I know we’re embarrassing ourselves.” Without missing a beat, his volume and rhythm oscillated back, “So, uh, rain check? Definitely next time. If there’s a next time, I mean, no pressure.” 

Spidey scooted up to sit next to Pool, resting a hand on his shoulder and dismayed that his self-flagellation had come back so quickly. “I’m sitting here with a crotch full of cum in my last clean costume. How about neither of us feel embarrassed? Like I said, that was incredible. There better be a next time.” 

Wade turned to face him but just took him in for a long silent moment. Finally, he agreed seriously, “Any time you want.”  
A moment later Spidey yawned loudly, prompting Deadpool to stand. “I should let you get some shut eye. Thanks for letting me . . . see where you sleep.”

Spidey grinned lazily, watching him readjust the katanas on his back and then reholster his guns. He was already looking forward to their next encounter, and the success of this one made him feel bold. “So when am I gonna see you again?”

“Can’t get enough of ol’ Pool, eh?” Deadpool teased.

“Like you feel any different, jerk.”

“Oh, I’ve totally had enough of myself.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Stop being a jerk.”

“But I am a jerk.”


	8. Chapter 8

They made arrangements for Spiderman to bring pizza by after patrol Friday night (really Saturday morning), giving Deadpool almost two whole days to ready his hovel. Spidey had seen if before, but now that Deadpool had some time to prepare, he was determined to be the least off putting as possible. 

[[Good luck with that one. Don’t be surprised if he has a sudden change of heart.]]

First thing he did was open all the windows, and leave them that way for almost the full forty eight hours. He threw out whatever garbage Spidey had missed earlier in the week, particularly all the junk in his room. Then he went out and bought air freshener, which he sprayed liberally over The Throne and the large mattress on the floor of his room. He also bought a mop and some cleaning supplies, so after a quick sweep through, he mopped the floor properly for the first time since leasing the top floor a couple years ago. After that he was stumped, unsure how to make the now somewhat cleaner space look more inviting, more like a home. It looked like someone had done a quick wipe down of a crack den.

[Maybe Spidey can help with that.] 

[[What this shithole needs a miracle. Even if he helped you fix it up, we wouldn’t maintain it.]]

The next day he dropped off his laundry, cuz no way would he be hanging around Bubbleland; so he was at least able to have clean clothes, towels, and bed sheets. While shopping for toiletries, he decided to buy a burlap folding chair, as well as plasticware and a set of bowls, plates, and glasses for two. He returned home as evening approached, dreading his final task: making himself less off putting. He had broken the mirror over the sink ages ago, but there was a full length one behind the door that he only rarely uncovered. Still, as he stripped off his leathers to shower, he figured that he needed to take a look at what he working with. 

[[We look like Osborn’s using us to field test his experimental nerve gas. Like the kind of mutant crime scene you’d leave behind.]]

“Fuck off, like you’re not part of that.”

[I dunno. We’ve looked worse. We’re all in one piece at least.]

“There is that,” Wade sighed. Normally such an encounter with his naked reflection would precede a serious bout of depression that could possibly end at the end of a gun barrel; but today he just quickly covered the mirror and moved into the shower. He made sure to clean every bump and ridge and crevice of his body, using the cheap flowery soap he had randomly bought for this purpose; then he brushed his teeth. After he dried off, he used the new baby lotion to rub down his perpetually dry skin, then tried the new deodorant. He knew that his usual hygiene practices were significantly subpar, and suspected that his strong odor was one area where he could hope to make a noticeable improvement.

Except for his “off duty” mask, he didn’t have any spandex of his own, nor was he particularly comfortable with the degree to which such a thin material would reveal his skin abnormalities. He shuffled through his newly cleaned clothes to find a pair of well worn jeans and a dark red hoodie, which he pulled over a black t-shirt and his lucky red-and-black striped briefs. He put his combat boots back on, then his soft mask, and finally his thin black cotton gloves. This time, when he uncovered the mirror behind the door, he did not feel like punching the glass and using a shard to stab himself in the eye.

[We look. . . tall. And broad-shouldered. The wardrobe doesn’t do much for our guns and ass-ets, but it’s clean and matches. Those are all good things.]

[[We look like a weirdo. We can’t cry if he decides he wants nothing to do with us and never shows.]]

Wade found it suddenly hard to swallow around the hard knot in his throat. It felt like he was being strangled, but he forced out, “I hate you. Of course, we won’t cry. ”

He hid the mirror once again, then moseyed into the living room to sprawl in front of the TV and eat pizza while he waited. During the third episode of Law and Order: SVU, a little after one in the morning, he was broken from his hypnotized stupor by a loud knocking. He shook himself out briefly, then bounded to the door.

And there was Spiderman, looking hot and energetic and holding a pizza. “Hey.” 

[[Smooth. He could still have come to tell you in person that he’s not interested. He’s noble that way.]]

But Spidey just grinned, eyeing him through the half open door. “Hey yourself. Can I come in?”

Deadpool moved aside, and Spidey stepped past him, briefly but intentionally brushing their fingers together. 

[♪♬ We’re up all night to get lucky! We’re up all night to get lucky. ♪♬]

Deadpool closed the door behind him, shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Mind-boggling.”

“Hey, you picked up the place. It looks, like, a million times better.”

“My research on the decomposition of various fast foods is not for everyone,” Deadpool deadpanned. 

“Morgan Spurlock already did that. McDonalds’ fries don’t decompose.” Spidey turned to the taller man, talking animatedly, “They just get hard and nothing ever grows on them. Think about that for a second.”

“I’ll eat the hard ones, totally don’t care,” Deadpool bragged. 

“Nasty,” Spidey replied, but he was standing close and looking right up at Wade.

[♪♬ Shalalalalala don’t be scared, you got the mood prepared, go on and kiss the girl. ♪♬]

[[I see we’re in for a classy soundtrack tonight.]] 

“How was patrol?”

Spidey shrugged, then moved farther into the apartment and balanced the pizza box on the milk crates (though not before clearly noting the empty pizza box beside The Throne). “Usual Friday night drunks and party animals. Had to swing a couple teens to the hospital, they were ODing on something.”

“Any time you want company, I’m totally down. That last time was good fun.”

[[Shoot and. . . miss.]]

Spidey changed topics as he took a seat in the folding chair, “Looks like you already had pizza.” 

“Figured that it’d be best to feed the dog before guests come, cuz he don’t share too well with others,” Deadpool admitted, while still sidestepping the real issue. He threw himself onto the recliner so hard that it creaked and shuddered. “But you should go for it. I’m such a glutton, I like to watch.”

[[It’s like you’re trying to show off how disgusting our eating and sexual habits are.]]

“I’m so hungry I don’t even care if that’s true.”

Deadpool tried to make the situation less awkward by channel flipping, pretending to watch the telly as Spidey removed his gloves and rolled his mask up to his nose. Then he provided a rambling running commentary to the various viewing options as Spidey ate. The younger man downed several slices within a few minutes, before his chewing finally slowed enough to talk. “There is one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you –”

“Nunh unh,” Deadpool cut off immediately, turning in his seat so that his legs were hooked over the large arm, and leaning forward so that his body was casually jackknifed, elbows resting on his own thighs. Somehow he managed to look both comfortable and threatening in this ridiculous, contorted pose. “You know way more about me than I know about you. If we gotta talk bout something serious, then we can talk about your serious for once. Not mine. That’s, like, the only line I’m drawing.”

“The only line? You must be pretty open-minded,” Spidey teased adorably. 

[He has no idea.]

[[No idea at all, poor thing.]]

“You have no idea,” he huffed. 

Spidey grinned through a mouth of pizza. “What do you want to know?”

Deadpool had several good questions, but with some experience in interrogation, he knew how to work up to it, how to first test the limits of his questions, “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Spidey returned back immediately, seemingly unconcerned.

[[Sixteen years his senior is not pathetic at all.]]

Deadpool had already lined up the next one. “What are you studying?”

“Biophysics,” came back just as quickly, though he had just taken a bite.

[[Smarter than a high school dropout for sure.]]

And the next one, “What do you do for work?” 

“Take pictures.”

Then he shifted to the next gear, “This thing between us, what’s in it for you?”

Spidey crossed his arms defensively and positively pouted a little. “I dunno, the witty repartee? What’s in it for you?”

“Fine, unfair question,” Deadpool conceded peevishly before moving on to a real one, “Given the crowd you hang with, you probably weren’t born a mutant. So how did all that happen?”

Spiderman finished off the slice of the pizza before brushing his hands together in preparation of something. He was more somber and composed as he explained, “A radioactive spider bit me as a teenager. In Norman Osborn’s lab of all places, on a school sponsored trip. Can you believe it?”

“I’ve seen stranger things,” Pool shrugged, watching Spidey closely.

“I guess I have too. But I was pretty freaked out the next day, I can tell you. Woke up with my senses going crazy and what felt like a completely new body.”

“Yeah, been there, done that. Got the unwearable t-shirt,” Pool commiserated. 

“Anything else you want to know?” Spidey challenged, rolling his mask back down. 

“Got any kinks I should know about?” He waggled his eyebrows under his mask. 

“Maybe, I’m still having my eyes opened.” 

[ABSOLUTELY ADORBS! Like a slutty Chihuahua.]

[[I double dog dare you to call him that.]]

“Now that’s a good answer, you slutty Chihuahua.”

“I thought so,” Spidey shot back, taking mock offense. “Before you insulted me, you whorish gorilla.”

“Whitey called you that affectionately, then Yellow dared me to repeat it. That bastard knows I can’t turn down a double dog dare coming off a canine comment. It’s literally too much alliteration.”

“Sounds like a lot of people not asking questions. Is it my turn then?”

Deadpool was reluctant to hand Spidey the question reigns, but he nodded gamely. He straightened in his recliner, allowing him to look away from the other man; yet his trepidation grew as Spidey moved his chair right up to The Throne, and leaned companionably into his space.

[[He’s totally gonna flip the script on us, cuz he’s smarter than us. We were better off not knowing.]]

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.” He felt a thrill of fear at being so thoughtlessly honest, at Spidey’s possible reaction. Would he realize how damaged and stupid Wade was? Thirty-six and not even able to manage equal footing with a man sixteen years his junior. Or would Spidey be appalled that he’d let an old ugly creep fondle his strapping young body?

But Spidey didn’t pause. “What do you do for work?”

“Soldier of fortune here. Whatever I’m contracted for.” Which the other man knew. This whole Q & A setup was stressing him out, like a job interview he actually cared about.

Spidey paused before the next question, voice gentling, as if he sensed his next blow would land harder than intended. “And how did you it happen for you?”

“Oh, I’ve got a prepackaged response for this one!” he hit back with false cheer, feeling a little manic. “You see, I got diagnosed with a horrific, flesh eating cancer, and was given a couple painful months to live. And since I’d been in the Canadian special forces, I agreed to be let the smart people at Weapon X experiment on me, which was quite the experience. Thank you, Canadian government, for the immortality and the post traumatic stress.”

[[That was the super short version, brah. What about the torture, the torture, and oh yeah THE FUCKING TORTURE?!]]

[Wait, I don’t think I remember that. . .]

“Fuck, don’t wig out on me guys, I need a snappy follow up,” Wade groaned quietly, gripping his head as it seemed to spin. Also, something was on the tip of his memory, graying over his vision – only he was brought gently back to himself by a bare hand on his knee. 

“Hey. Stay with me, Wade.” Spidey’s voice was warm with concern.

Wade had enough experience fading in and out of awareness to bounce back quickly. He offered up an embarrassed grin, “I’m back. Sorry. I was just a little, uh, distracted for a moment there, but I’m back on track. . . Did you, uh, have any other questions?”

“Just one, an easy one,” Spidey assured hesitantly, squeezing his knee. “And only if you’re up for it.”

“Shoot.”

[[Glutton for food and punishment.]]

[Now that you mention it: yes and yes, absolutely.]

“Why didn’t you ask me my name?” Spidey questioned, sounding inexplicably shy. 

It hadn’t even occurred to Deadpool to make that bid, but still he challenged, “Would you have answered truthfully?”

“I might have,” the younger man shrugged. “I know your name, it feels weird that you don’t know mine.” 

That didn’t sound like a good reason to change a working status quo, especially with such a radical turn as revealing his super secret identity – to Desdpool of all people. Spidey was so close that it was easy to grasp his hands over the armrest. “It doesn’t feel weird to me. Your identity is important, I get that. And I want you to feel safe with me. Don’t do anything you can’t take back later. I don’t need to know anything. Like the pricks at Weapon X would say, I can afford to go in blind.”

[[“Going in blind, deaf, and stupid” was the exact wording.]]

[Sounds like something you would say, Yellow.]

“Well, that’s morbid.” Spidey half-stood, leaning over the armrest, but then hesitated. “Hey, you got a bed or something?” He gestured limply at Deadpool’s beloved recliner. “I want to climb on you, literally, but I’m not down with the whole suicide theme you’ve got going with this thing.”

[That was a good one, Spidey! Right on!]

“Sure, in the bedroom. It’s sorta clean.” Deadpool bounced to his feet and took Spidey’s bare hand to pull him to the closed door. 

[[I really hope we’re done with that part of getting to know each other.]]

[Me too!]

“Bed’s great for climbing though. You don’t have to worry about falling off, not that you ever have that problem, I’m sure.”

“Not too often.” Spidey glanced around but there wasn’t much to see: an open closet sparsely populated with mostly black and red; a window and the door to the bathroom; a closed box being used as a nightstand; and a queen mattress on the floor with rumpled grey sheets. Pool just hoped the Fabreeze scent wasn’t too strong.

Spidey, that little minx, walked straight onto the bed, then turned to look at Deadpool, giving him slow, speculative elevator eyes. “Should I put my gloves back on?”

[Hot damn, he’s ready to go! All hands on deck!]

Deadpool’s whole body perked up, moving to stand at the end of the mattress. “You can take off anything you want.”

Spiderman was smiling under his mask, Wade could tell. “What’re you gonna take off?”

Deadpool toed off his untied combat boots, revealing thick red socks, then stepped onto the mattress. Spiderman watched him brush by and then twist himself to lay back on the bed, propped up on his elbows. “I said that next time you could touch, not that I was gonna strip butt naked.”

He said it casually, was pretty sure he even played it right to sound sexy, but the truth was that he felt naked. His current full bodied attire was still much less restricting and reassuring than the thicker hide he almost always wore in front of other people (and often by himself too). It was both terrifying and completely arousing. Would Spidey still want to touch him?

[[Should you let him? There’s no way he won’t feel our disfigurements under these wispy civvies!]]

[Don’t listen to him, and don’t blow this. Do I need to innumerate the ways he’s indicated interest? For the last time, YES, he is flirting with us!]

Spidey folded down to sit cross legged next to him, so close that one knee rubbed Pool’s elbow and the other rested against his ribs. Moving just slow enough to broadcast his movements, he wrapped his bare hands around Deadpool’s neck and jaw to pull their faces closer and rub their cheeks together. It felt like it had at the Park, a memory that Wade had already revisited dozens of times. He returned the nuzzle, only to have Spidey shift into the movement and bring their covered lips together, and then they were sorta kissing, lips moving and parting. Within a couple minutes, the thin material between them was damp and Wade was tempted to just pull their masks up a bit so that he could finally taste the other man. Instead, he shifted to one elbow, using his free hand to wrap around Spidey, so that as he lowered himself fully onto the mattress, the smaller man was pulled down on top of him. They both gasped softly at the full body contact, lips only barely breaking apart. 

“I really like this mask,” Spidey teased, breathless and almost giggly.

“It has its perks,” Deadpool murmured warmly, nuzzling his ear. He liked the way his body felt squirming under Spidey’s weight. 

Maybe the younger man did too, because he propped himself up partially and slid his body down several inches then back up, dragging his civvies around with the movement. “I like the street clothes on you too. Much better than the leather.” 

Spidey drew his bare fingers over the soft material of his hoodie, and Wade had to admit that it felt incredible. His skin never felt good; even now it was sore and aching in places, tender and oversensitive in others. Yet it tolerated the friction well, soothed by the blanket of warmth and weight and tantalized by the intimacy.

“If you give me any more complements, something is going to explode.”

“Oh yeah?” Spidey carefully positioned a knee between his legs and pressed his thigh into their junction. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” Pool assured, struggling to remain coherent. When Spidey rubbed his thigh against him again, he practically squealed, “♪♬ Danger, danger! High voltage! ♪♬”

[[For the soundtrack of his life, message author.]]

Spidey chuckled, synchronizing their writhing movements so that they rocked together. That was enough for a minute, cheeks and wet mouths rubbing their groins against each other, but hands soon began to roam. Spidey’s naked fingers groped Pool’s pecs through the soft hoodie, slowly rubbed down his abs, then rested possessively on his hip, just below the waistband of the worn jeans. Deadpool’s hands had to do their own exploring, of course. The feeling through his thick leather gloves was extremely limited, but these red cotton gloves, stretched thinner over his large fingers, were a completely different experience. The first things to strike him were the smooth warmth beneath his hands, the hard give of muscle, and slick slip of spandex. It was a quick trip down Spidey’s ripped back to the dip of this spine.

Deadpool freed his lips to warn quietly, “My fingers are about to grab your ass again.”

“Your fingers? Acting on their own accord, are they?” Spidey chuckled, never breaking its rhythm against Deadpool’s body. 

“It happens from time to time, but I suspect Whitey is behind this mysterious migration. We just can’t get enough.” Then he wrapped a large hand very deliberately around one cheek, thumb pressing into the outer indent of pure muscle, palm cradling the softer bottom, and fingers inching deep in his cleft. Spidey’s breath hitched in surprise, but he moaned as Pool squeezed and used the leverage to grind their hips together forcefully. 

[Shhhwing! We’re almost touching his asshole right now. I bet our grip is stretching his rim a little, opening him up just a tiny bit, letting air kiss his tight hole. If it weren’t for the spandex, our fingertip would be resting on his virgin entrance, tapping and massaging and beseeching entry. ]

It was Deadpool’s turn to moan, hips bucking at the thought as he roughly squeezed again. In the background, Yellow wailed: [[Beseeching?! What are you, the Shakespeare of erotic fanfiction?]] But Deadpool was much more attuned to Spidey, gasping and whining “Wade!” in his ear, and that turned him on too.

Then Spidey’s hands were moving with less finesse, jerking down to fumble at Pool’s button-up fly. Deadpool’s free hand was actually trapped under the weight of Spidey’s body, draped as he was along Pool’s left side, so that he had to drop his glorious handful of ass to capture Spiderman’s wrist.

[But we’re so close!]

Spidey froze immediately, pulling up (not away) just enough to look at Wade through their masks. “Not okay?”  
Wade took stock of his conflicted impulses for a moment, to make sure he could be coherent. His voice was fuzzy with arousal as he set his limits, “Just over the briefs.”

Spidey nodded. He looked down at Deadpool’s substantial bulge and proceeded to unbutton the fly with greater precision and care. His slower speed only heightened the anticipation, so that Wade had to look down too, to see the jean flaps folded open and a bare hand resting on the red-and-black stripes that traversed his junk.

[YES! Finally! It has been sooo long!] Whitey sounded positively possessed. 

[[You can’t even remember the last time, idiot. I do, it was last year with that poor hooker who sprayed vomit all over us.]] 

“Is all this for me?” Spidey teased, squeezing lightly, but he sounded and felt so gentle that Wade didn’t mind nodding and burrowing his face into Spidey’s warm shoulder. He didn’t want to witness anymore, to be anymore; he just wanted to feel good in this skin for once, and to forget who he was. Spidey smelt so good, like the cookie dough ice cream had melted a little bit and gotten extra sticky. It felt like tempting fate, but he was beginning to believe that the evening wasn’t going to end with Spidey getting physically ill because of Wade’s body.

Spidey started up a steady rhythm, sliding the well worn cotton up and down Wade’s hard dick. The dry, rough skin chaffed under the warm friction, but the superficial discomfort was easily lost in the bone deep satisfaction of having someone rub his lonely prick. Even the cursed boxes were mostly content and quiet, and Wade was able to enjoy the experience cocooned safely in Spidey’s embrace. Spidey twisted, squeezed, tried different things, but Deadpool didn’t care. He loved all of it. It had been a long time for sure, and even longer since there had been an encounter that wasn’t more bad than good. He should’ve jerked off earlier in the shower, but he’d been too stressed; now he was going to shoot off way too soon. Deadpool shuddered involuntarily, and though his hand kept moving, Spidey drew away slightly. 

“Oh, fuck! I’m so close, baby boy. Please, just. . . don’t stop.” 

“I’m not going to stop, Wade,” Spidey chided, adjusting his position so that they were eye to eye. After a moment, he very conspicuously glanced down Pool’s body to the large tent at his crotch. 

[[He wants to watch! What luck, he’s a complete degenerate!]]

[Hey, that’s my line!]

Deadpool let the tension build as they both watched Spidey’s hand stroke his junk, but as he neared climax, he abruptly chickened out and smashed their lips together. He didn’t want to see, he wanted to feel the rougher slip of wet spandex and to hide the sounds of his pleasure in Spidey’s mouth. The naked hand on his cock picked up speed and seconds later an orgasm seized his body, demanding the attention of every cell and every nerve, if only for a few delirious moments. 

[GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAL!!!]

“Spidey! Fuuuck!” he groaned loudly as the wave finally passed and his muscles unclenched. More relaxed, his body better accepted the constant ache of his skin, turning it all into a mere discomfort. He took a few breaths to appreciate that before opening his eyes to return to reality. Spiderman was watching him, bare hand on his abs, and erection pressed against his hip.

Wade wanted to thank the other man, but he didn’t trust himself not be completely pathetic about it. Instead he offered his second thought, “You should be a pin up. For, like, a calendar of scalding hot superheroes.” 

Spidey grinned beneath his mask. “Who else would feature?”

[Trick question! Don’t answer! ♪♬ Danger, danger! High voltage! ♪♬]

[[Well that’s gonna be stuck in our heads for days.]]

Deadpool took a moment to button his pants closed over his soiled briefs; then he turned to Spidey and pushed him to lay back. “Who gives a fuck? I’ll be stuck on your month all year, won’t ever know what day it is.”

Leaning over the prone man like a lion over his prey, Deadpool planted a quick spandex kiss on the other man’s lips, then nuzzled behind his ear as he rubbed his substantial bulk against Spidey’s gymnast’s body. He gradually dragged his cheeks and forehead down Spidey’s neck and collarbone until he could nestle between his tight pecs. Pool tried to mouth at the hard little nipples, but the material wouldn’t allow anything more than a tease. Spidey arched into the attention though, so Pool sat up a little to use the full agility of his hands. The thin red gloves allowed him to feel just how delicate the small nubs were, but it was also easier to judge the suitable level of abuse. The leather had had all the dexterity of metal clamps, but these fingers could tweak and twist, roll and rotate, pinch and pull, eliciting a sequence quiet gasps and little moans from Spidey. Wade liked this soundtrack much better than Whitey’s.

Deadpool ran his hands lightly down Spidey’s ribs, then lowered his head to nuzzle the soft stomach with his cheek. If felt so good and comforting that he stayed a minute to rub his whole face into the yielding flesh. Finally he dragged his forehead down even lower, bumping his nose and lips against the hot cock there. He settled his own body between Spidey’s muscular legs, rubbing his cheeks along the tempting length between. When the teasing had Spidey writhing, legs clenching and squeezing, he brought his hands into play, massaging the throbbing sex so he could inspect the costume up close. There was nothing obvious, but no way was it not designed to allow for a quick piss.

[BINGO!]

When he located the well hidden panel, he slipped his fingertips in, but just far enough to prove that he had figured out the design. Spidey tensed for a moment, but immediately relaxed. “Yes, please.”

“How can I refuse when you ask so nicely?” Deadpool purred. He inched further into Spidey’s suit, the blue material stretching easily to accommodate the additional appendage. Pool took a few seconds to scratch and unmat the coiled pubic hair, then his hand reached farther to wrap around the heavy, waiting cock. It was a little over six inches, smooth as a baby’s ass and as pink as a blushing virgin. Pool immediately began stroking up and around.

“Ah, shit! I love your hands!”

[[He’s never even seen your hands. He has no idea that you’ve basically been rubbing your deformities all over him.]]

“Shut up,” he murmured to himself, but he didn’t think Spidey noticed. It wasn’t the time for his drama, it was Spidey’s turn to feel good. He deserved only the best.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

Pool pumped Spidey’s prick with all the coiled power in his fingers, forearms, shoulders. The thin cotton sheath on Pool’s hand felt strange and rough on Peter’s bare cock, but it was a lot warmer and more intimate than the leather gloves had been through the spandex. At the time he had enjoyed being at the mercy of the combat gloves, but this closeness and connection was definitely better. When the strokes slowed, then fumbled, it took him a dazed moment to realize that Pool was manipulating his dick through the fold of his costume, exposing it to the air and both their gazes. He was probably slightly above average, though certainly not as big as Wade. That, of course, could be said of literally everything in comparison to the other man. Tall, with swollen muscles and a garish personality, Deadpool was always a bit larger than life. 

Pool stroked slowly up and deliberately down, so that Spidey could see, and so he could watch from between Spidey’s legs, the leaky cock jutting up between them. Peter moaned and he thought he made out Wade’s smile. Then the older man strategically ducked his face so Peter could only see the red crown of his head. His free hand did something with his mask, and Spidey barely had time to process the implications before Deadpool surged forward, dome first, and swallowed Spidey’s dick whole. 

“Oh, shit!” Peter cried, surprised and overwhelmed by the surge of wet, hot stimulation. Pool sucked on his cock like he ate tacos, cramming as much back as possible while hiding the site of his hedonistic consumption. He clearly had no gag reflex, milking and deep throating him until saliva dripped down Peter’s balls and Peter doubted that the older man even needed to breathe. It was frustrating that he couldn’t see much of the wet, wild ride, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bobbing red crown either. His hands itched to touch, but he held back, fearing the temptation to pull off the raised mask.

He didn’t last long under Deadpool’s enthusiastic administrations. Large hands braced his hips, pulling him in impossibly deep, burying his dick in Deadpool’s throat. Peter moaned loudly as his climax errupted through him in waves, splashing down the hot, slick passage as it swallowed and constricted around him. The blissful afterglow lasted for long, fuzzy seconds. 

“Oh my God!” Peter exclaimed when he finally came down from cloud nine. He was impressed again at how phenomenal the sex had been. It’d been a while since Peter had received a blowjob, but he’d never had one like that! Deadpool was, like, some secret sex ninja!

He looked at Wade sitting next to him, but it was definitely Deadpool grinning back at him, mask in place. “Blown away, were you?”

“Pretty much,” Spidey chuckled, tucking himself away and sighing contently. “I feel a million times lighter.”

His grin shone on for a minute before it faltered. Wade ducked his head and asked cautiously, “So it was. . . okay then?”

What? Peter had to stop and think before answering; something, he realized, that he hadn’t been granted the opportunity to do before. Why hadn’t Wade asked this before he swallowed him whole? So that he could use the element of surprise to hide his face? (That was rather mercenary, wasn’t it?) What if Peter didn’t want his dick sucked by someone who wouldn’t even show his face or kiss his lips, someone who didn’t even know his name?

“I . . . dunno,” Pete admitted gradually, with dawning unease. “I mean, it felt fantastic, no doubt! Probably the best oral of my life! But, uh, it might’ve been nice to be consulted before hand, yeah? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, mmm, maybe we shoulda waited. I don’t know how I feel about, you know, having had my dick in your mouth before my tongue. Call me old fashioned, but I think the traditional order has something to offer.”

“It’s all very hole in the bathroom stall, isn’t it?” Deadpool commented casually, though it was suddenly hard to get a read on him.

“That’s not what I want,” Peter objected, sitting up in mild alarm. He didn’t like these thoughts at all, not after he had performed all manner of mental gymnastics as not to be skeezed out by his unconventional and increasing intimate liaison with the notorious mercenary. 

“Of course not, you want a name and a face and a body, so that you can do all the normal things that other people do,” Deadpool explained as though waxing on about the weather, going so far as to look in the direction of the window. “But that will never be me. Maybe I’m a step up from a hole in the wall, cuz I have, like, a physical body; but that still just makes me a sex doll or something. You can use me all you like, but people are going to think you’re nuts if you attempt anything more.” 

Pool’s front of nonchalance finally cracked into manic irritation, his words getting faster and louder as he climbed to his feet, “Oh, just shut the fuck up already! Fine, I’ll tell him! Whitey wants to clarify that we’re not a sex doll, more like a red sex Gumby, like that makes any difference! And fucking Yellow wants to point out that a good sex toy would know to shut the fuck up and put his face hole to better use!” 

Peter had listened with increasing dismay and creeping horror, slowly getting to his own feet. When Deadpool stopped ranting and pacing long enough to look to him for a response, Peter could barely give voice to the profound ache in his chest. He reached out with bare palms. “I don’t see you as a sex doll, Wade, or a hole in the wall, or anything like that. I feel shitty that that you’d even think that.”

“The point is that you don’t have to feel shitty,” Wade convinced, as though possessed. “You don’t have to feel shitty or guilty or awkward, or anything at all, about taking advantage of my skill set, any skill set. I’m good for killing people and for quick dirty fucks, you’re not the first to have noticed either talent; but you gotta realize that I basically got nothing else to offer. So it doesn’t bother me when someone skips the pleasantries to get down to business. I haven’t even had sex with someone who wasn’t a pro in, like, years. I’m damn lucky you have any use for me, and I know that. No one else will even shake my hand, let alone touch my dick. Honestly, you could probably keep me tied up in your closet twenty four seven, with a police baton shoved up my ass and a vice on my cock, and I’d still be gagging for it whenever you came by.”

“Wade. You’ve gotta stop this,” Peter pleaded, overwhelmed by Pool’s messy emotional deluge and feeling close to his own outburst. “I don’t feel awkward or guilty, I feel sleazy. Cuz that’s what normal people feel like when they treat someone they like as though they’re a paid whore.”

“I’m a mercenary, Spidey,” Wade insisted, apparently blind to any distress but his own. “It’s basically the same thing. You wouldn’t be the first john to mistake a stellar fuck for someone they wanted to keep around.”

“Enough!” Now Peter was pissed too. “I am not a john, I’m not cruising for a simple fuck, and I definitely don’t want a stupid sex Gumby! I don’t like you saying all those terrible things about yourself, most of which is low self-esteem bullshit, but I draw the line at being cast as your abuser in whatever twisted fantasy you have rattling around your head!”

They faced off like that for several seconds, both breathing heavy and wild where they stood in the mattress. The air between them gradually calmed and cooled, until Deadpool, ever the more mercurial, eventually ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do I need to apologize? The boxes disagree and neither is making any sense right now. I mighta fucked up.”

“I dunno, Pool. Are you sorry for anything?” Peter answered with a sigh, upheaval already transitioning into fatigue. He was well ready to go home and process the whole experience later; nothing seemed to be making much sense right now. 

Pool looked at him sheepishly. “Maybe? I know you’d never abuse anyone, it’s not in your nature.” His voice sped up a little, “And I’m sorry if I made you feel sleazy. I shouldn’t have said anything afterwards. Or blown you at all, I guess. I just wanted to make tonight good for you, but of course my big fat fucking mouth gets me in trouble no matter what.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Peter said softly, feeling discouraged and defeated as he turned away from Deadpool and padded out of the bedroom. He had picked up previously on Wade’s low self-esteem, how could he not, but he hadn’t realized the full extent of it, or what the implications were. Despite their incredible physical chemistry, how could Peter, in good conscience, continue to mess around with someone who had such a distorted view of himself? Of them? It made everything that had been so hot earlier now just seem sordid.

“Is there anything I can do to fix this?” Deadpool asked pathetically, following closer than Peter would’ve liked at the moment. “To make it less shady?”

Spiderman retrieved his gloves from beside the folding chair and put them on, trying to think of how to answer that question fairly and honestly. He wanted Wade to take his mask off, but he didn’t want that to be a bargaining chip, if it was even on the table. Finally, he looked at Deadpool and challenged, “You could call me by my name, my real name. That would help.”

Deadpool was silent and still for beat, then fretted, “Have you really thought about this, Spidey? If you tell me your name, you won’t be able to take that back. That’s not the kind of thing I would likely forget. Someday you’ll want to erase me from your life, but that won’t be so easy when I know who you are. I wouldn’t put it below me to stalk you again, harass your friends, maybe write your name in the sky.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but Wade’s mental gymnastics were even more mind-boggling than his own! “You know that makes no sense, right? You know where I live, there’s a hundred ways you could’ve found my name if you wanted to, now or later. At first I was scared, I admit, but it’s been weeks and you haven’t done anything to jeopardize my identity, despite every opportunity. I think you don’t want to know my name; that you’re more comfortable with this awful hole in the wall scenario cuz then we can both be anonymous and pretend not to notice anything about each other. But that just makes us both faceless sex Gumbies, and that makes me feel crappy too.”

“You’re not-,” Deadpool tried to interrupt, but Spiderman put up a hand to stop him and hurried on, “I’m sorry to leave like this, but I’m not up for any more fighting or fucking tonight. I’m tired and I’m going home. Maybe we can talk about this later, but right now I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Deadpool nodded, stoic and unreadable now under his mask, and trailed Spidey silently to the door. As much as he wanted to beat a hasty retreat, to maybe run home and just cry, Peter forced himself to turn around at the doorframe. Looking at the taller man, he could admit that he still liked what he saw, that he wanted to kiss the lips that had been around his dick, but right now their entire “acquaintance” seemed on the verge of falling apart. So he settled for reaching out a gloved hand, slowly to telegraph his intent, then cupped Pool’s jaw and rubbed his thumb against the thin material over Pool’s lips. “Thanks for this. You were incredible.”

“Even if we fought about it after?” Deadpool wondered, sounding as lost as Spidey felt.

“Yeah.” Spidey tried to smile as he dropped his hand, but it was too weak to come across through his own mask. “Bye for now.”

Deadpool was silent. Spidey quickly ran down the stairs to the street, where he heard the gun shot. Indecision warred within him for a second, but then he ran away as fast as his feet would carry him.

! ^_^ !

After sleeping away all of Saturday morning, Peter woke and buckled down again. He made lunch, did a bunch of school work, then went to Stark’s gala fundraiser – not as a guest but to take pictures of the schmoozing celebrities. Stark and Ms. Potts posed for him, and the billionaire winked at him afterwards, but otherwise left him to his job. Peter also ran into MJ on the arm of some late twenties trust fund manager, and they exchanged fake pleasantries, but it didn’t bother him the way would’ve a couple months ago. He was too disturbed and upset about the situation with Deadpool to care about much else, though he was still glad to have some space to breathe and process.

Three days later the space and return to routine began to feeling less like a relief and more lonely. Peter wondered with mixed feelings if Deadpool would show up on patrol or outside of his apartment; he looked for any hint of red hiding on rooftops, but there was nothing. He assured himself that the other man was okay; as Deadpool would’ve said, he was always okay, right? That thought was always followed by an ache in his chest, because clearly Wade wasn’t okay, however powerful his healing factor. He was seriously messed up, and Peter was a fool for not realizing the extent of it earlier. 

Part of him missed his interactions with the wild merc and urged him to drop by his apartment, but a more rational part told him to cut off contact while he still could because Deadpool was an AWFUL CHOICE for any kind of friendship/relationship/whatever. Peter had witnessed the man both fall apart and hurt himself several times now, and he was clearly struggling with a collection of destructive thought and behavior patterns that should’ve destroyed him and would’ve permanently killed anyone else. Peter had told himself that he wouldn’t jerk Deadpool around, but that was before he knew just how much he was trying to take on. Deadpool needed a caregiver and a therapist, not a boyfriend. 

Except that Peter thought Wade probably did need a friend; and he objected to the notion that he should back off just because the damaged man was more troubled than he had realized. Plus Peter just plain missed him and his crazy shit. He hadn’t even realized how boring and empty his life had become until Deadpool had spiced it up like so much Sriracha. If he were truly noble, he’d put their sexual relationship on the backburner to focus on building a healthy friendship; but he was not so deluded about his own intentions, nor did he think Deadpool would accept such a detour. 

On Thursday night, after a productive if depressive week of seemingly endless work, Spiderman finally gave in. He had caught himself “randomly” patrolling close to Deadpool’s place in Harlem, and it was simply too tempting to swing by Deadpool’s apartment. When no one answered the door, he left the building and came back in through a window. The place looked just like it had when Spidey had been there last, the pizza boxes still in the same place but no new food cartons. And no Deadpool. He glanced with trepidation at the recliner, but he couldn’t see any differences, so he went into the bedroom, where his eyes narrowed in on a new blood splatter low on the otherwise clean walls. It looked like Deadpool had bypassed his usual recliner so that he could blow his brains out while sitting on the mattress where everything had gone wrong; and then had left the apartment and not been back. Peter went home feeling numb. 

Despite the drama of their last encounter, Peter had not cried then, too disturbed and overloaded to unload. Now he did allow himself to cry briefly in the shower, where he sat in the tub and let the water wash away his tears and drown out the muffled sound of his misery. He felt guilty for his own role in the awfulness, and angry at Pool for his dysfunctional overreaction to their conflict, and, worst of all, he was miserable and afraid that Pool wouldn’t be coming back at all. It felt like he’d missed some kind of significant opportunity, and that he’d been left behind in his bland, colorless life. He found no comfort in the thought that he was probably better off without the deadweight that was Deadpool. 

Friday was a struggle to get through, and Peter went through the motions in a depressed haze that never quite lifted until he came home that night and checked his mailbox. Shuffling through a bill and a couple ads, he found a crumbled envelope with his address but no name, and a postage stamp indicating it had been mailed from Miami a couple days ago. His mind sharpened at the possibilities, both good and bad, and he immediately it ripped it open to read the unfamiliar block letters.

PETER PETER PUMPKIN EATER,  
HAD A POOL WHO WOULDN’T GREET HER.  
SHE MADE HIM CALL HER BY HER NAME,  
AND HE LEARNED TO LOVE THAT KINKY GAME.  
I’M JERK, BUT I’LL TRY TO BE BETTER. XOXO #646 555 5911

Peter actually giggled in giddy relief, the depressive cloud dispersing so fast that he felt lightheaded. In the elevator he pulled out his phone to text. ((U know I’m not a woman rite?))

He had to wait a couple minutes for his reply, but he couldn’t distract himself. He unlocked his door and went to lie back on his bed and stare at his phone like a moody teenager. Finally, the concurrently blessed and cursed device chimed. ((How can I 4get? Don’t h8 me, pumpkin eater))

Peter flushed as he typed his response, ((I don’t hate u. Went by ur apt yesterday but u weren’t there))

((In miami for job, back 2morrow nite. Miss me?))

He wanted to ask about the job, but knew that this would’ve been the worst time for that conversation. Instead, he replied, ((Yes. Don’t like how we left things))

((My fault, I’ll be better I swear))

Peter wished that meant Wade was taking some actual responsibility and not just blaming himself for everything, but he doubted that was the case. ((We’ll both do better 2gether)) 

There was a longer pause before his phone chimed again. ((Whitey wants to know if u wearing the sexy spandex. That ok?))

Peter felt a twinge with guilt that Pool would ask, knowing that he was changing his normal behavior because of their fight; but of course it would take some caution on both their parts to move past the pain they had unearthed. While he was wary of jumping right back into the sexual end of the Pool, it had always been a central part of their interactions. ((All ok. Wearing slacks n button up, had a work thing))

((Pussycat dolls telling u to loosen up ur buttons babe))

Peter smiled at that, and did unbutton his shirt. ((I’ll take it all off if u do 2))

There was a longer pause before he got a reply. ((On stake out =( Can I pretend to watch u instead?))

Peter was a little disappointed, but recognized that this was not a situation that required any honesty at all. As it was, Deadpool was already pretending that full nudity was only off the table because of his current location, while Peter suspected that actually Pool’s hang ups extended to being naked period, regardless of any audience. ((Sure. Pretend u staking out my apt))

((Where u lying on ur bed, hand in ur pants. So lazy, u should take pants off))

Peter smiled at that, and slipped off his pants. They weren’t ideal for jerking off anyway. ((Ok, I’m naked 4 real))

((I see ur pretty pink dick thru the scope. I want to touch so bad))

Peter flushed, cock swelling between his bent legs. He couldn’t believe was doing this, but it was more arousing that he had anticipated. He touched his chest a little before typing, ((Playing with my nipples, u see that?))

((What u do to them, baby boy? They all red like u been letting someone else mistreat em. Ur nips been slutting around, Spidey? Letting any ol creep tweak n twist em? Next time I leave town, u gonna keep clamps on the whole time))

Peter wasn’t surprised that Deadpool would be good at this, he never had any problems saying sexual things. It was more of a struggle to reciprocate. ((Like what u see? U should take ur glove off, adjust urself))

He used the seconds that he was waiting for a response to pinch his nipples hard, thinking about clamps and Deadpool palming himself. Finally, he read, ((Cup 2 tight, don’t feel like it should. But u make it hurt so good))

Peter smiled and typed back, ((JC Mellencamp can make anything sexier, thanks 4 that. How bout u slip hand into leather, take hold of the situation?))

((Mmm. 1 hand stroking me, other hand stroking my rifle. Like I’m holding 2 cocks about to explode))

Peter could picture it, in some kinky cartoon way, and he gave his own cock a couple of pulls before typing, ((2 bad u not here, we could find way to put 2 cocks to good use. Must be something to do wit em)) 

It took Deadpool a little longer to respond, giving Peter a little too much time to touch himself. His balls were beginning to tighten by the time his phone chimed again. ((Fuck, starting to h8 this cup 4 realz. It’s wrong to keep majestic beast captive. Operation Free Willy has commenced!))

Peter laughed, ((Careful Pool, that 1 almost ruined my childhood))

((Yet u still pumping ur poor prick like u stripping paint, like u beating it into submission. My mouth watering 4 realz just thinking bout ur tasty cock)) 

Peter’s prick pulsed as he read the message, precome oozing across his palm. He had to wipe it off on his sheets to reply, ((Wish u were here now to show my dick who’s boss))

((U’d like that. Dangerous freak in red leather gonna break thru window, lunge on u be4 u can scream 4 help. He’s gonna straddle ur naked body so u can’t get away, arms trapped, legs pinned open. . . This ok?))

Peter stroked himself rough and fast for a minute, breathing heavier. This was getting kinky as hell, and he wondered briefly at himself, but he couldn’t deny his intense arousal. He could barely pry his fingers off to get back to his phone. ((Thanx 4 asking but don’t stop))

Then he had to wait almost a full minute, though his right fist was hardly idle during that time. Finally, he read, ((Masked intruder wrestles u down on bed n grabs ur pretty cock so tight u gotta lay back n let him. U cum so hard u can barely remember what happened b4, but u remember who that cock belongs to l8r cuz it be red n raw just like DP))

Oh, shit! Peter pulled at his swollen flesh a handful more times and then, with a loud moan, his body was arching up and pulsing long spurts of hot semen all over his hand and groin. Afterwards his bones felt like jelly, and his skin like it was one with the bed. He was half asleep when his phone signaled one last time. ((Good night, pumpkin eater))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic sex. Possibly disturbing discussion on self image. Suicide.


	10. Chapter 10

Deadpool was feeling pretty good about himself as he disembarked the plane, despite the suspicious looks from passengers. When he’d tried to board, the full body red leather had apparently alarmed some passengers enough to express their concern, which in turn prompted the flight crew to give him shit and try to move him. However, since he wasn’t carrying any weapons (he’d checked his swords) and had pulled up his mask to prove his identity (which had been satisfyingly shocking), they had backed down when he started talking about calling his lawyers. As sweet revenge he had taken perverse joy in being extra obnoxious in first class, talking to the boxes and laughing raucously, chewing loudly and bumping seats.

Full of jittery anticipation, the first thing he did in the taxi was remove his gloves and text Spidey. ((Holy happy hr traffic, batman! Back in gotham!))

A couple of blocks later, his ringtone screamed at him, but he tapped the phone on before it could escalate in volume to a blood curdling shriek. ((Join me for dinner?))

[He wants to go on a date before we fuck around. Awww, how sweet is that?]

“How stressful,” he murmured to himself. 

He quickly typed back, ((Gotta go home first. When where?))

[[We’re lucky he wants anything to do with us after our last colossal cock up. Maybe he wants to tell us that phone sex would be the safest arrangement to have with a deformed and dim-witted psychopath.]]

“It’s still better than nothing.” Though it’d be a hard decision to live with and abide by. 

((Fat pat’s by u. 7 ok?))

[Uhhh. . . Does he know what he’s getting into?]

[[Does the fool ever?]]

Fat Pat’s was a BBQ and soul food place with good delivery, but he’d never eaten in before. It tended to be crowded, especially on a Saturday night, and wasn’t open late enough to ever escape that drawback. Pool was surprised that Spidey would be willing to court that much attention. Still, he didn’t want to be any more difficult than he already was just being himself, so he agreed. ((K))

[[Somehow I doubt we can make it through a whole meal with Spidey - excuse me - Peter, in a real restaurant. It’s like asking the retarded bull to juggle the china in the china shop.]]

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey, Spiderman-wannabe! You better not be talking to yourself back there,” the cab driver suddenly interrupted. “Cuz I don’t need no trouble. Pyscho headcases can get out and walk!” 

“Why, yes, asshole, I am talking to me, myself, and Spiderman too!”

Which was how Deadpool ended up walking the last six blocks home, carrying his large duffle bag as he both literally and figuratively patted himself on the back for being so reasonable. He could’ve taken out a katana and disemboweled the cabbie, or simply shot him for his disrespect, if he wasn’t so levelheaded. 

He got home later than expected, then had to hurry to get ready. He would’ve felt better, safer, in his leathers, but figured that civvies were more appropriate for a maybe-date; because of the mask, he’d be getting unkind looks either way. He soaped and showered, rubbed down with baby oil followed by baby powder, and then paired a new pair of black sweats with a red turtleneck and a mostly clean red and black track jacket. Next he donned his defenses: his soft mask, his shoulder holsters, and his combat boots. Lastly, he secured two handguns in their holsters, slipped two knives in his boots, and dropped an old set of brass knuckles in his pocket. He might look like a mentally delayed goon, but at least he was a well armed retard.

[That should be the name of our band: The Well Armed Retard.] 

He approached Fat Pat’s at about five past seven, and tried to spot Spidey through the window. No way was he going to awkwardly hang around the lobby, gathering stares and unwanted attention as he waited. Almost immediately an attractive young man approached him and Wade tensed with trepidation as he purposely ignored the other man. He’d never been asked to leave a restaurant that he hadn’t to even enter yet. 

[Don’t do anything rash! I want to see Spidey!]

“Hey, Pool. It’s me,” came a familiar voice, low and careful.

Deadpool’s head whipped around so fast and far that his neck objected painfully. The man beside him was the right height and build, and the voice was right, but, but, but. . .

[[Woh. Now that is unexpected.]]

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” Deadpool whispered, flabbergasted. “Peter?”

[Oh em gee! Spidey is a hot young thing!]

The young man smiled shyly and nodded, and Deadpool was blown away to recognize the amazing smile. “Great movie. Christian Slater was hot back in the day.”

“But you’re hot!” Pool exclaimed stupidly. He hadn’t thought about it too much, but if he had, he might’ve guessed that Spidey was funny-looking or scarred or had some other imperfection that had driven him to wear a full head covering. Deadpool had identified so strongly with the other man’s costume choice that he’d never much considered that it really wasn’t being worn for the same reasons. Obviously Spidey wasn’t as deformed as he was, but he hadn’t been expecting this. It defied belief.

“Thanks.” The young man was blushing now, ridiculously adorable with his hazel eyes and purposely tousled brown hair. Dressed in a button down shirt and tight jeans, he looked like he belonged in one of the city’s hot hipster clubs. “You’re, um, lookin’ pretty good too. The street clothes were a good choice.”

Pool shuffled nervously on his feet, feeling warm but unsure of what to expect. “Yeah? I figured that if anyone gave me shit, I could claim to be a Luchadore.”

[[Barely even a lie. We’re basically a real life Luchadore.]]

Peter smiled again and Pool couldn’t help but stare. “Wanna go in? I got us a reservation.”

“Ok. Just don’t be surprised if you have to vouch for me. I can go full retard if it’ll help.”

[[Again, barely even a lie. This is gonna be humiliating.]]

“Just be yourself,” Peter replied fondly, grabbing his hand. This time Pool was wearing a black pair of cotton gloves that stretched thin over his large hands and easily conveyed Peter’s warmth. Wade let Peter lead him into the restaurant. The hostess seated them with some proper New York apathy, despite the stares of the other patrons; and they certainly weren’t gonna complain when they were given a secluded table in the back of the restaurant, even if it was just to get them out of view. 

Sitting across from each other, Wade focused on his menu in an attempt not to fidget or pull anxiously at his mask, but his leg tapped a rapid tattoo anyway. How was he supposed to act now that he was the only freakshow at the table? It felt like they suddenly had nothing in common. 

“Hey, relax,” Peter soothed, fingers reaching out to brush over his knuckles – which he abruptly noticed were clutched around the table knife. “Is it me or the restaurant? I just figured since you already know my name and where I live, there isn’t much identity left to hide. But we can leave if you’re uncomfortable.” 

[Get your shit together, DP. I wanna cum tonight, preferably not by jerking off while sobbing along to ♪♬ All Byyyy Myse-eeelf♪♬ .]

Deadpool forced his leg to still. “No, I’m good. I’m just a bit wired from the, uh, job. ”

“Anything exciting?” Peter asked hopefully. 

[[He’s trying to have an adult conversation again, fucktard. You need to meet him partway.]]

“Um, sure, it was definitely my kinda gig,” Deadpool started, finding it hard to look straight at Peter for more than a few seconds at a time. “The Cuban drug cartel down there wanted me to take out the human trafficking ring that was stepping on their toes and offending their sensibilities, yuh dig? Those assholes are basically in the business of raping and mind controlling kids, so my fucking sensibilities were fucking offended too. I only had to kill two of them, the others willingly got into the shipping container bound for Kuala Lampur. I let them keep their weapons, but there’s not much else in there, so no guarantee how many are going to walk out at the end of the very long trip. I can only hope they go all Silence of the Lambs on each other.”

Peter was listening with rapt attention, leaning forward with his lips slightly parted. “And the kids, what happened to them?”  
Deadpool shrugged, faking a nonchalance that he didn’t actually feel about abused kids. “Called DCF on the way to the airport. Believe me, it’s better that I didn’t stick around. Authorities hate me so much, it distracts them from the real perps and the victims.” 

Just then an attractive waitress came to take their order, wide eyed but superficially polite. When she left, Peter’s brow pinched into a cute little frown before he ventured carefully, “I know it’s kinda early for this, but I’ve been thinking a lot about things since I saw you last, and you deserve a fair warning. . . If we keep going like this, we’re gonna have to have a serious discussion about your work. I’m really not okay with it.”

[BANG! Woo hoo! Did baby boy just say what I think he said?! BANG BANG! No fucking way! AHHH! Jaaackpot! BANG! ]

Deadpool flinched a little at the hysterical celebrating and banging that suddenly flooded his head and made it even harder to process what Peter was getting at. Surely he wasn’t saying what it sounded like, Whitey was notoriously bad at interpreting anything. “Keep going like. . . what?”

“You know.” Peter blushed again and glanced down in embarrassment. “If we start to get serious.”

[[Our sexy little twink may not be too bright, but to quote the 90’s masterpiece Speed, he’s got some big round hairy cojones.]]

It felt like a challenge had been thrown down, and Deadpool had to sit back and gather his thoughts, arms crossed over his chest. Surely Peter wasn’t considering a possible long term future with him, but the evidence appeared to point to that. Furthermore, he was apparently tying the future success of their maybe-relationship to him modifying or even giving up his mercenary ways. The entire proposition was pretty fantastical, as there seemed little possibility of their affair lasting long enough to even require such a concession on his part. Spidey was so bloody noble, the poor fool couldn’t even have a pity fuck without feeling a sense of commitment. 

Deadpool’s hand creeped forward on its own volition, to again run his fingers along serrated edge of the knife. “And just to check, I’m not hallucinating?” 

Peter’s eyes flicked to the knife worriedly, but he didn’t move. “I don’t think so. I’m real, and we’re just sitting and talking at Fat Pat’s. Is there anything else going on?”

Deadpool shook his head. It only took a further second of thought to commit to pursuing this mythical relationship they were considering; it may be highly fanciful, but Pool could just imagine how amazing they would be together. He leaned forward decisively, suddenly professional and deadly serious like he was negotiating a killing contract. 

“I’ll accept your ultimatum under the following terms. Firstly, that I am not required to modify my behavior until our affair reaches its three month anniversary, measured from our encounter in your apartment. Secondly, any agreement will only be binding for the duration of our liaison. Finally, while I can agree to certain reasonable conditions and restrictions, I refuse to be sidelined completely. I have, for example, given up killing before. But I won’t sit out when I see a pressing need for intervention or in a situation that requires my unique skill set.” 

Peter had listened with a growing look of surprise, and by the end of Deadpool speech he was grinning. “I don’t see how you could possibly think yourself stupid, Pool. You sounded like a lawyer just now. And I accept your conditions. Details pending further discussion.” 

Deadpool smiled back at him from under his mask, despite a swell of hope and pure pleasure so strong that his chest hurt. 

[[Don’t be dim, you gotta know it’ll never come to that. No way he’ll keep us around for three whole months.]]

“There’s, uh, one more thing,” Peter ventured awkwardly, and Deadpool’s smile disappeared, his whole body suddenly shrinking in on itself. This is where the other shoe would drop, it’d been too good to be true for even a few minutes. “I know this is a lot to put on you, I’m sorry, but, like I said, lots of thinking, and there is something else I need going forward. Starting now, not in three months.”

Deadpool crossed his arms again, feeling tense and naked and wishing he had worn his leathers. “Hit me baby boy, one more time. What’s the catch?” 

[♪♬ Hit me baby one more time! ♪♬]

Peter shook his head and rushed to continue, “No catch, really! I just. . . I saw the blood by your bed, Wade. And you know I’ve got that awful recliner of yours figured out. I can’t. . . I can’t explore this thing between us if I’m afraid you’re going to off yourself any time we fight or something goes wrong. It doesn’t matter if you heal, not to me, I can’t mess around with you, or whatever we’re doing, if I think it’s gonna hurt you. I’m sorry, but that’s a deal breaker.”

Wade’s body unclenched gradually, slow to realize that the falling anvil had been more like a pebble. As his heart rate slowed, relief and gratitude gentled his voice, “You’re not hurting me, Peter. I can’t say that I’ll never to hurt myself again, cuz pain helps me quiet the boxes and, uh, other things that are not real. But I can promise not to suicide anymore, if that’s what you want, for as long as you want anything to do with me.” 

[[If you think we have that much control over our own actions, we’re more brain damaged than we thought.]]

The waitress interrupted with their food and drinks, and Peter thanked her before smiling tentatively and reaching forward to take Wade’s hand. “Sorry to dump all this on you like this. I know it’s kinda early for the entire relationship conversation, but I think we have a lot of complicated issues to overcome and we need to communicate if we’re going to avoid hurting each other. Do you have any concerns or boundaries you want to bring up?”

[[We’re not in much of a bargaining position.]]

[Pulled pork! Collard greens with baaacon!]

“No. I’m just grateful you’re willing to put up with me at all.”

Peter looked a little disappointed. “You’re allowed to have needs and wants too, Pool. . . Or maybe just things you don’t want?”

[[Think, asshole. He expects an adult answer.]]

[Feed me, feed me now! Fooooood!]

Deadpool frowned so deeply it was probably visible through the mask, but it was even harder to think with a large plate of delicious food staring him in the face. “Uh, well, I guess my hard limits would be kids, animals, and shit play. Kids and animals are just wrong, and shit is just nasty. Soft limits I guess would be, uh, well, hurting you. But maybe if you were really into it. I don’t know, I’d have to be convinced. Let’s see. . . the only other thing I can think of is, like, I’m not really into playing doctor, not if I’m the patient or test subject or whatever. And definitely not if I’m gonna be bound too. That probably sounds weirdly specific, but I’ve had more than enough of the whole human experimentation scene, thank you very much. Again, unless that was something that really got your engine revving. Then maybe we could work something out.”

Deadpool studied Peter’s perfect face to see if he had given an acceptable answer, but the younger man just looked wide eyed and slightly open mouthed. “O-kay. Not exactly the needs and wants I was talking about, but good to know. I think we can avoid all those things.”

Then Peter flashed his amazing, gorgeous smile and Wade couldn’t help but grin back blindly, so that they passed a sappy, feel good moment together. Finally, it was time to eat, and Peter smirked around a mouthful of baked mac ‘n’ cheese. It took Wade a second longer to raise his mask behind his hand, but then he happily stuffed some delicious pulled pork in his face and beamed back. It felt so good just to be happy for once, and Ol’ Reliable couldn’t help but stir to life at all the positive stimulation. When he felt the toe of Peter’s tennis shoe drag up his calf to his knee, he almost dropped his fork.

[Ask him back to our place, DP!]

“You wanna come back to my place after this?” Wade asked hopefully between bites. 

“Definitely,” Peter assured, his curling lips hinting at similar thoughts.

They smacked lips in silence for a couple minutes before Deadpool’s hunger was sated enough for further conversation. He didn’t generally consider it his place to dig into Spidey’s private life, but clearly they were moving in that direction, so there was one thing he was curious about now that he knew the young man had a cute face to match his hot bod. “So. You said you’d never been with a guy before, but I bet you’ve had a harem of girlfriends. A sexy college boy like you has probably bedded as many chicks as Johnny Storm. Ol’ Pool wants to hear of your nubile exploits.”

[The spank bank Is OPEN and accepting rainy day deposits!]

Spidey chuckled and blushed. “Not exactly. I’m glad you like what you see, but the consensus has generally been that I’m a skinny dork that cares too much about school, work, and my extracurricular activities, if you catch my drift. And the ladies are not wrong.”

It was a little hard to believe the picture he was painting, so Pool asked skeptically, “But you’ve had girlfriends, right?”

Peter nodded, chewing a little slower before stopping all together. “Two serious ones, Gwen and MJ.”

“So what happened?”

Peter looked morosely at his almost empty plate. “Are you sure you want to hear about them? They’re both kinda depressing tales.”

[[Beautiful baby boy, you wouldn’t know depression if kneed you in the nuts.]]

Wade shrugged and stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. “My whole life is a sob story, I’d love to hear yours. But you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Like, ever.”

Peter sighed and wiped his hands and mouth. “It’s okay, you have a right to know. . . Gwen was my first love, I was totally head over heals. She was beautiful, and funny, and strong, and I was shocked when she wanted to date me. We were mostly happy, but she didn’t know what I do at night, which caused problems. . . Then one day the Green Goblin threw her off the George Washington Bridge. I tried to stop her fall with a web line, but she was dropping so fast that the sudden stop broke her neck.”  
Wade watched Peter for long seconds, but he was resting his forehead on his hand and covering his eyes. 

[[Tick tock. ♪♬ Tick tock on the clock. ♪♬ How would a normal person console their maybe sorta boyfriend?]]

[We could offer to suck his cock again. We’re good at that.]

[[Cuz that went so well last time.]]

Wade pulled his mask down over his greasy lips, largely indifferent to such things. It was his turn to awkwardly reach out to lay his fingers over Peter’s. “Hey. You gotta know that it wasn’t your fault, she would’ve died anyway if you’d done nothing. You did what you could to save her.”

“That's what I tell myself,” Peter responded quietly, glancing up wretchedly. Wade really hoped he didn’t start crying, then he’d really be lost. 

“But it doesn’t help, does it? I know it’s no little comfort to have anything in common with me, but I’ve killed people by mistake too. More than once, and it always sucks. I’ve blown up places that were supposed to be empty and collapsed buildings that took out bystanders, and even been tricked into un-aliving the wrong bastard. It happens so often in our line of work that the army has a word for it: collateral damage. It’s awful and painful but it’s something that a lot of soldiers have to deal with. The fact that it hurts so much is what makes you hero, and separates you from the villains.”

[Clap. Clap. Clap. We’ll be getting an Oscar for that one for sure.]

Peter tried for a weak smile, but just sorta grimaced. “Yeah, I know. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with what happened. It just hurts to think about.”

Just then the waitress came by and Wade ordered them banana pudding and pecan pie. If that didn’t help, nothing would. He took a gamble and asked, “What about the other one? What happened there?”

Peter took a steadying breath, already seeming stronger, and continued on, “Nothing quite as bad. I just saw MJ last week actually, she’s an actress on Broadway and doing well I guess. She was a friend of Gwen’s too, and was there for me after her death. One thing led to another and we eventually got together. Then later she figured out my secret identity. I did love her, but things were difficult, I guess cuz Gwen’s death overshadowed everything. I wish we’d stayed friends after she called it quits, but I’d asked her to marry me twice and my fragile male ego just wasn’t up for the rejection.” 

He ended his explanation with a small smile and squeezed Pool’s hand. Then they drew back as dessert arrived, and Wade again raised his mask while covering his mouth. 

“What about you?” Spidey asked between bites. “Have there been any important ladies in your life?”

[Have there ever!]

“Ha!” Deadpool barked through a mouthful of pie. “I’m a lot older than you and I haven’t always been this hideous, so there’ve been a few. I’ll just give the highlights.” He put down his fork to count off, “Vanessa, codename Copycat. She’s a mutant I was dead serious about before the cancer, was probably gonna marry, but after I was too messed up and totally torpedoed that relationship. Then there was Camelita, who wasn’t around long, but she’s my baby mama. Not that I ever see my daughter, she’s better off not knowing me at all. . . Where was I? Oh yeah, a couple years later there was another mutant, codename Siryn, who broke my heart and messed me up hard core, though that was only partly her fault. She was so kind to me after all the shit that happened, I fell hard even though I knew a gorgeous babe like that could never love me. Then this bitch Typhoid Mary pretended to be her and did sleep with me, only to do this whole mocking big reveal that sent me completely spiraling. . .”

Deadpool trailed off, eyes blurring as memories creeped over him; his hand clamping over his own mouth as if stifle any cries for help. Despite all the death, torture and sick experimentation that he had been subjected to, the emotional evisceration of that experience still trumped everything else. He had thought briefly that Siryn loved and cared for him, despite his disfigurement, only to learn that Typhoid Mary had exploited his weaknesses, unveiled his vulnerabilities, and made a mockery of his suffering. At the time the rage and anguish had sent him on a hallucination studded rampage that now defined who he didn’t want to be. The memories of her big reveal and his subsequent murderous meltdown still haunted his nightmares, among other horrors that he been forced to endure and survive.

A sharp kick to his shin brought reality back into focus, and a second later sound came back. “-ade! Earth to Deadpool! Hey!”  
“I’m back, I’m back! I’m okay. Just a little detour through the ol’ recollection landfill,” Deadpool joked breathlessly, a little disoriented. He quickly pulled down his mask, seeking any protection it could offer, then pushed his pie away as nausea overpowered the appeal of the delicious desserts. Why couldn’t the cancer go all garbage disposal on the brain matter that stored that memory?

[I can still smell that bitch’s rancid pussy juices all over us. I think I’m gonna be sick.]

“Jeez. That must’ve been pretty bad to have put you off your food,” Peter joked gently, reaching out to rest his hand on Wade’s forearm.

“I think it was the worst experience of my life,” Wade confided quietly. “Which is saying a lot.”

“Thanks for telling me. . . Women suck.”

They sat there in a comforting if silent commiseration until the waitress brought their bill. Spidey let Deadpool pay when it looked like they were going to get into a fight over it, and soon they were out on the street, walking home. Deadpool was still quieter than usual, but it didn’t stop Peter from hooking their elbows and leaning their sides together.

“I’m afraid to ask after hearing our collection of traumatic experiences, but I’m super curious. You don’t have to answer of course,” Peter began.

“Just ask,” Pool conceded, though admittedly pretty tired of all the sharing. “But once we get home, I’m done talking. I’m supposed to be the merc with a mouth, but you’re giving me a run for my money tonight.” 

Peter half-smiled at that, bumping shoulders. “I’m down with that plan. . . I just want to know if you’ve been with any men.” 

“Here and there. Just the one was sorta serious, my last boo,” Deadpool answered a little reluctantly. “Nathan Summers, ay kay ay Cable.”

“No shit?!” Peter exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt. “The mutant from the future? The one who created Providence?”

Pool tugged his elbow to keep moving. “That’s the guy. Big, broody hunk, hell bent on saving the world from itself, which I found noble or something at the time. That was pretty much his twenty four seven gig, except that sometimes he would get so wound up and intense that he’d let off steam by pummeling my ass into the floor. Or wall. Or whatever.”

“So what happened there?” Peter asked, gazing at the taller man with avid interest.

[I miss Cable. . . Remember how he’d signal us? We’d go prep quick and come running before he changed his mind. Then he’d bend us over the nearest surface and use his massive hands to spread our cheeks and hold us still, spit on our hole, and mount us like we were a breeding stock. And then, then he’d use that massive cock to plow us so fast and forceful, past the stretch and pain until we felt nothing at all except the throbbing and aching of our groin. . . Sigh. . . I miss Cable.] 

[[Only you could turn being used like that into wank material. Spidey is much better to us, despite the new age “boundary” blah blah and all these invasive questions.]]

Deadpool shrugged, still unsure of his own feelings on the situation and half listening to Whitey’s erotic reminiscence. Cable hadn’t treated him very well, he knew, but Deadpool hadn’t the self-esteem to care; Cable was genuinely indifferent to Deadpool’s appearance and that had been as good as love in Deadpool’s eyes. In return, Cable had gotten someone he didn’t have to pretend to care about and who was capable of withstanding his physical demands. The sex had been rough, infrequent, and completely on Cable’s terms, but Deadpool had enjoyed it and the connection it had given him to the otherworldly mutant. He‘d been really into Cable, had looked up to him, and had for a while truly believed in him and his vision; but he’d never been able to earn Cable’s faith in return, and that still hurt. It didn’t stop his dick from perking up at the memories.

“He was meant for something bigger and better, I guess,” Wade tried to summarize without getting into the ugly nitty gritties. “I was only ever a groupie to him, so when he moved on, he left me behind. Last I heard he’d gone back to the future or something. I won’t lie, it stung to be left without even a "Hasta la vista, baby", but it’s not like he ever said he loved me or anything. He never promised me a rose garden.”

[[You know we resemble that book, right? It’s about a little girl with schizophrenia.]]

“Wow. That sounds kinda shitty. I’da thought a guy so determined to end the world’s suffering would treat others a little better.”

Deadpool shrugged again, but by then they had entered the lobby of his building and he turned abruptly to wrap Spidey in a bear hug, eager to draw comfort from the other’s presence. He had to hunch a little to bury his face into the soft hair behind the ear, but he was a rewarded with Peter’s pure smell, direct from the source. “You smell spectacular. Like pecan pie and cookie dough and gooey cheese. Yum.”

Peter chuckled, gently scratching down Pool’s back. “I wonder why. You gonna try to eat me?”

“Only if you let me,” he murmured, nuzzling Peter’s neck. Then he nipped gently through the thin material of the mask, and he felt Peter’s body shudder against his.

“Hey, freakshow fag! Take it upstairs, nobody wanna see you rubbing off on your rentboy!”

[DEFCON ONE motherfuckers!]

Deadpool jerked away, flooded abruptly with rage and humiliation, and he reached instinctively for the guns in his shoulder holsters. Spidey’s hands were on his before he drew though, strong and restraining, and he flashed an encouraging smile before turning to the old African-American man down the hall. “Don’t you know Deadpool here is a Mexican wrestler? He’s pretty famous south of border, for his moves in and out of the ring, if you catch my drift. He doesn’t need to pay for it, and he’s certainly not paying me. So we’ll go upstairs, and thank you to keep your homophobic bigotry to yourself next time.”

[He stood up for us! I think I’m in luuurv.] 

Deadpool glared at the man for a second longer, but Spidey was pushing him towards the staircase. Once there, he challenged Pool to a race, which the larger man might’ve won taking three stairs at a time, except that Spidey cheated on the last floor and skittered up the wall. They were laughing by the time Deadpool unlocked his door, and then it was Peter who pushed him against the wall and leaned his body into Pool’s. He dragged his nose across Pool’s jaw and muttered, “You smell good too. Like bar-b-q and baby powder.”

Deadpool’s hands bracketed Peter’s hips, pulling him closer so they could rub their burgeoning erections together. In thirty six years, no one had ever told him he smelled good, and though that was probably with good reason, the praise hit a nerve wired to all the good endorphins. 

“Unh unh,” Peter teased after a moment, pulling his chest back just a little. “Hands at your side.”

His dick surged at the command, his head thumping back, and he placed his palms on the wall. Peter reached into his black and red track jacket with both hands, pulling out a large Desert Eagle and a smaller Glock and inspecting them cautiously. “Spidey, meet Big Boi and Black Betty.”

[Do you think he’ll let them join in? Black Betty would look so hot dragging down his milky white thigh.]

[[Better yet, why don’t you show him how Big Boi looks in your mouth? You can pretend it’s only for the purposes of fellatio.]]

Peter crouched for a moment to place the guns on the floor, then rose and kicked them towards the kitchen. “Any other weapons on your person?”

Pool gyrated his hips provocatively, palms still on wall. “You can’t trust anything I say, Spidey. Maybe you should check.”

Peter flashed a mischievous grin, and Deadpool felt his chest tighten with a bittersweet happiness. “Oh, I will.” 

Peter placed his hands on Pool’s shoulders, then ran them down the outside of his arm, then back up to his armpits. Then he patted down Pool’s ribs, past his hips, until he came to his pockets. Peter leaned heavily against Pool to retrieve items from each pocket. He tossed the keys and money clip on the floor and after a brief glance, the brass knuckles joined it. He then continued where he left off, dragging his hands down Pool’s muscular thighs and calves until he felt a hard handle protruding from each combat boot. Crouching on the floor before the towering man, Peter reached under each pant leg to retrieve the items, careful not to touch his skin. Wade’s dick pulsed again at the unexpected and unprecedented care Peter was taking with him. 

Peter turned the two daggers over as he examined them, then he placed them with the keys and knuckles before rising gracefully to his feet. “All this just to go to a restaurant fifteen minutes away?”

Deadpool shrugged theatrically, his whole body shifting. “The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is. . . a worse guy with a gun.”

[[Ain’t that the truth!]]

Peter leaned into Pool again, hands returning to his hips. “Stop moving, bad guy, this pat down isn’t over.”

Then those strong hands slid down and back to grip Deadpool’s ass cheeks, giving them a hefty squeeze and grope, so that the merc couldn’t help but buck up into Spidey’s warm, compact body. Peter drew back almost immediately, looking down at large tent in Pool’s sweats, and only sorta managing a straight face. “What’s this? I think I found another loaded weapon.”

Then Peter cupped his covered dick and Deadpool moaned loudly, rutting helplessly up into the touch. He was so turned on by this interaction; not since he was a teenager had he gotten so far on so little actual contact.

[Keep him, DP! Blow him, marry him, commit to a life of civil disobedience and nonviolence! Just do whatever it takes to keep him!]

[[Easier said than done, he hasn’t even seen your Freddy Krueger face yet.]]

Peter stroked him, slow and confident, leaning again in to whisper in his ear, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Wade froze and his muscles tensed, mind spinning indecisively at the sudden shift from arousal and pleasure to fear and panic. More than anything, the speed and shock of the shift made him feel physically awful, and like perhaps some of dinner was gonna come back up.

[[Hahaha! Perfect comedic timing as always, brah! Hahaha!]]

“Stop laughing!” he hissed, twitching in anxiety. Fucking Yellow always made a bad situation worse!

Peter released his dick and gave him an inch of space, watching him behind the mask. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, rubbing a hand down Pool’s arm. “I was just saying. We’re not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Wade, but I’m not gonna stop wanting to kiss you either. Like I said at the Park, I don’t care what your skin looks like.” 

Wade took a couple steadying breaths before gently pushing Peter away and stepping past him. He needed to distract himself, and the younger man, and to reset in a direction he was more comfortable with. “I have an idea for something else you might be up for.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end for warnings.

Disappointed but not surprised, Peter followed Deadpool into his bedroom. He was not going to give up on the kissing issue, it was too important to him, but he was willing to move on for now. He watched as Pool crouched down next to the mattress to dig through a large duffle bag, then retrieved a bundle of mostly black material. That seemed promising, maybe Wade had a bodysuit they could use to explore his body? 

Deadpool flashed him a grin from under his mask, then moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back in a minute, make yourself comfortable.”

Peter toed off his shoes, and removed his button up, so that he was down to his jeans and undershirt. Though he’d seen it before, Peter glanced around the room again. The blood stain on the wall had been poorly cleaned and he couldn’t help staring at it with unease and trepidation. After a few seconds he made the executive decision to drag the mattress to the opposite wall and push the heavy box across the floor so that it mostly covered the splatter marks. He thought it was a definite improvement. Deadpool still hadn’t come out, so Peter peered nosily into the open duffle. Seeing what looked to be a large assault rifle, he kneeled and retrieved the weapon for a closer inspection. He had some familiarity with handguns, as he’d taken a lot off of criminals during his years as Spiderman, but this was definitely a higher caliber semi-automatic. 

“Hey!” he called out loudly. “What kind of gun is this monstrosity in your bag?”

“You ever seen that movie Jackie Brown?” came the muffled reply.

“No.”

“It’s an AK-47, baby boy! As Sammy Jackson will tell you, ‘When you absolutely positively gotta kill every motherfucker in the room, accept no substitutes!’”

“Well, that’s a little terrifying,” Peter muttered to himself, replacing the gun. He poked around in the bag for a moment longer, recognizing the katanas, a bunch of ammo, a laptop, and what appeared to be surveillance equipment; but a disappointing lack of personal effects of any sort. Had Deadpool worn his leathers for the duration of the job? Finally, Peter moved the whole bag into the closet, where two red combat suits were hanging up and a small collection of street clothes was poorly folded and stacked. Then he turned around as he heard the bathroom door open, and his mouth fell open. 

“Holy fuck!”

Wade was still wearing his soft mask, and indeed appeared to have donned some black skintight ensemble that covered almost his whole body, but what really shocked was the frilly red and black dress he wore over that. It was sleeveless, and low cut along the chest, showing off his bulging pecs and biceps; it featured a bodice that tied in the front and hugged Pool’s narrowed waist; the skirt part flared out, providing an excellent view of long, muscular legs, but was so short that Peter wasn’t sure why he couldn’t see Pool’s long, thick cock peaking out. The entire effect was also sorts of kinky freaky weirdness, and Peter had never been one to consider cross dressing at all attractive, but he wouldn’t deny that his own dick twitched at the sight. 

“Whadya think?” Deadpool asked, giving a little spin with one hand in the air and one hand on his waist. “That’s quite a mouth you have, Spidey. I was starting to wonder if fuck was even in your vocabulary.”

“This is so far beyond my experience, I don’t know even what to say,” Peter replied hesitantly, stepping closer. 

Deadpool shuffled forward so that they were actually quite close, seemingly less confident than he had been just a couple seconds ago. “I can take it off if you want. I have a couple dresses, I won’t lie, but I don’t like, need to wear them or anything.”

Peter took a closer look at the surprisingly well made frock. He tried to understand why a rough and dirty mercenary like Deadpool would want to wear frilly dresses, and he could only imagine that it was because of some desire to feel attractive. Given the man’s hang ups, how could Peter not be open to that? Plus, while it sometimes bordered on uncomfortable, one of the things he liked about messing around with Deadpool was that he was kinky and wanton, despite his shame regarding his appearance. 

“I didn’t say that. It just, uh, takes some getting used to. Can I. . . touch?”

Deadpool nodded, holding uncharacteristically still as Peter reached out with his right hand. He gently fingered the tulle border of the skirt for a second, then moved on to the silky frills that ran up to Pool’s waist. The ties were some kind of fake silk, while the bodice itself was velvet, but as Peter pressed his palm forward, neither could disguise the rock solid muscle hidden underneath. Peter thought that he was probably more tantalized by what he couldn’t see than the frock itself, but he figured that it didn’t matter. This would work well enough for him. 

Peter rubbed his hand up the front of the dress, then slowed at the neckline. He liked how Pool’s well developed pecs could be seen swelling up from the lacy border, and he was tempted to do something that would be completely uncouth had the tall man been a woman; and yet he was pretty sure those rules didn’t apply to this extra-ordinary experience. His eyes flicked up nervously, but he couldn’t read anything behind Pool’s mask; and since Peter was also feeling bold, he brought his left arm up and used both hands to cup the muscular breasts. Deadpool stayed frozen on the spot, but he inhaled raggedly, and Peter took that as encouragement. He used his thumbs to push down the neckline and expose the spandex covered nipples. 

Peter had felt him up during their last encounter, but only through the relatively thick material of the hoodie. This time he could feel some unevenness under his fingertips, but he was more interested in the little nubs peaking up through the tight black material. He pinched them both at the same time, and rolled them between his thumb and forefinger so that Wade groaned and arched his hips forwards. “Fuck yeah, Spidey. Squeeze my tits.” 

Peter grinned at him, pleased with the reaction and newly convinced of the dress’ potential pleasures. “Ok, you’ve convinced me. I like the dress.”

“You can fuck me in it if you want,” Deadpool rasped, sounding hopeful.

Peter’s hands dropped in surprise and confusion, a frown materializing on his brow. If he liked Deadpool’s little kinks, he was not a particular fan of the emotional roller coast they always seemed to be on. It was bit soon for anal sex, wasn’t it? Especially since they hadn’t even talked about it, right? Not to mention, “How’s that even work in the bodysuit?”

“Lemme show you,” Deadpool murmured deeply. Then he took Peter’s hand and brought it behind him to rest just under the skirt. Peter’s breath hitched to realize that his fingertips rested on coarse flesh of Pool’s ass, that the black pants had either been designed not to cover the crack or had been cut that way. The possibilities suddenly seemed to kaleidoscope and Peter had to pull his hand away before he was overwhelmed by temptation. 

“Wade,” he said, hoping he sounded stern but kind. “I’m not fucking you before I kiss you. That is a hard limit for me.”

Deadpool studied him for a long, silent moment, and Peter cursed the damn mask for always letting the other man hide. His head was tilted slightly to the left, possibly listening to the boxes, and Peter really wished he knew what horrible things they were saying. Finally, the merc spoke, voice as tense and coiled as his body, “So if I consent to kissing, you’ll commit to fucking?”

Well that was an unsettling way to put it. “I guess that’s the gist of what I’m saying,” Peter replied uneasily. “But when you say it like that, it sounds like a contractual exchange or something. That’s not exactly how I imagined our first time together.”

“Me neither,” Deadpool replied defensively, agitation seeping into his voice as he crossed his arms over his lacy bosom. “But it’s better than getting shafted when you suddenly come down with buyer’s remorse.”

“Buyer’s remorse?!” Now Peter was offended, without even fully understanding why. “What does that even mean?!”

Deadpool half turned from him and backed away in jerky, distressed movements, spiraling quickly and spitting vitriol, “Do I need to spell it out for you, Peter? Once you get the product home, unwrap it and see what you bought, you’re gonna be disgusted. You’re gonna be sickened at yourself for letting me touch you, and you’re gonna fucking despise me!” 

Wade stumbled over the mattress and fell backwards on his ass. He quickly wrapped protective arms around his knees, possibly to cover himself, but continued on angrily, “And so even if everything ends tonight after our big humiliating reveal, Whitey is a goddamn cockslut and still wants to get plowed!” Then he did seem to lose steam, ducking his head down between his legs and voice dipping, “Even if it means taking it from someone who is digusted by us but is too goddamn noble to back out of a promise.”

Peter watched Deadpool’s histrionic display in dismay, but as awful as the words were, it was pretty clear what insecurities were fueling this outburst. Furthermore, this was not Peter’s first rodeo. He’d witnessed the merc have several minor meltdowns at this point, and he wasn’t as shocked or upset as he’d been previously. Deadpool was both mercurial and resilient, and Peter was pretty sure that they could get past this incident, quickly even, if only he could stay cool and calm and ride the waves. Whereas if he let himself get pissed off and left now, there was every chance that the older man would disregard their agreements and put a bullet in his skull. After a few seconds of thought, Peter came to a decision.

Peter flipped the light switch off and moved to the bed. The perpetual New York City light pollution still provided some visibility through the window, enough to make out shapes and outlines, but it was pretty dark. (Peter, of course, had above average night vision, but this wasn’t about him.) He kneeled on the bed in front of Wade, who looked up silently at him, and Peter hoped he could make out his smile. He rested strong hands on Wade’s shoulders and squeezed. “How bout this? If you let me make out with you like a teenager, which was, like, only last year for me, then I’ll let you show me how great sex with a real man can be. And I know it’s gonna be great, cuz everything we’ve done so far has been amazing. I’m not worried about your skin. You could look like Groot at this point and it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Wade took a couple steadying breaths. “That’s not too far from the truth. Though more like post cheese grater Groot meets burn unit Freddy Krueger.”

“Stop it. You’re gonna get my ugly kink all revved up and then I’ll have no choice but to rip the dress off and ravish you. Which would be a real pity, since you look damn sexy in this hideous thing.” 

Wade chuckled weakly, and Peter inched his hands inwards to lightly run his thumbs under the edge of the mask. When the other man didn’t object, Peter asked, “May I?”

Wade gripped his bare forearms for a moment, squeezing and restraining lightly. Peter heard him swallow before venturing a little pathetically, “Not all the way, yeah? Just high enough.”

“Sure. For now.” Wade let his hands drop, and Peter gently dragged the mask up his neck, then rolled it carefully over his chin to rest on the bridge of his nose. Wade seemed pretty tense, and just in case, Peter explained, “You’re gonna need your nose to breathe.”

Wade nodded and then Peter had a hand behind his neck, pulling him closer to press their lips together. He did want to look, but now was obviously not the best time. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on the satisfying feel of full, dry lips; he’d always been into kissing but he’d swear it was all the sexier for having been forbidden. Peter rubbed their lips together briefly, but quickly found himself too excited to be patient. He licked at the seam of Wade’s mouth, eliciting a gasp that Peter swallowed greedily, barely waiting before he slipped a tongue in. Wade took his weight as Peter surged forward for more, and released a surprised whimper as the younger man began to explore in earnest. He allowed Peter’s wet protrusion to run along his teeth, to taste the traces of sugar and bar-b-q, and to spar with his own tongue, until finally he wrapped his arms around Peter and pulled the thinner man down to lay on top of him. Only then did Peter break away to breathe and grin.

“Like that, did you?” he teased, feeling the hard on against his thigh. His eyes briefly skimmed over the bumps and scars he could make out on Wade’s neck and jaw.

“More,” Pool grunted, pulling Peter back in. This time he cradled Peter’s head in large gloved hands, rubbing his hair and scalp as he used his tongue to get more intimately acquainted with the younger man. Peter moaned in encouragement and let himself rut wantonly against the larger body. It took him long minutes of making out to realize that the arm not trapped under his own weight was free, and that he had permission to touch. Then Peter’s fingers were tracing down the bodice to the edge of tulle skirt, massaging the strong thigh below. Finally, his hand slipped higher to brush the thick, hard cock there, held close to his body by the spandex pants and causing Wade’s hips to stutter up. 

They broke apart then, lips wet with spit, and Peter nuzzled the exposed skin of Wade’s neck and jaw. The taller man spread his legs and bent them at the knees, giving Peter better access to stroke and rub through the thin spandex, his own hand coming to rest on the swell of Peter’s ass. Gradually Peter’s fingers moved lower, fondling Wade’s heavy testicles before fingering the slit that had been cut in the bodysuit. 

Wade grunted and used a knee to gently push Peter away. “Take the rest of your clothes off.”

Peter scrambled to pull off his undershirt, then lay down on the mattress to pull off his jeans and briefs simultaneously. When he turned back to Wade, the older man had turned over and already gotten himself into position: mask back down, with head and chest pressed into the sheets; legs spread wide, with a hand slowly rubbing the cock in between; and ass high in the air like it was being presented for the taking. The ridiculous dress did a suspiciously good job of covering the exposed crack, as though specifically selected so that Deadpool to get fucked without ever exposing any skin. 

“Oh shit,” Peter whispered, torn between arousal and anxiety. This was about to happen now. 

“Don’t stress, baby boy. Just go for it and your body will know what to do,” Pool directed, voice muffled in the mattress. 

Peter shuffled closer, until he was lined up right behind Deadpool’s raised haunches. The stupid tulle was completely obscuring his view. “We at least need a condom, right?”

“I can’t get sick, and as gross as I am, I can’t carry anything either,” it was hard to interpret the sharp edge to his voice. “And the last time I had sex was, like, over a year ago, so I don’t have any rubbers.”

In his lust haze, Peter couldn’t think of any counterarguments. He was more interested in what he saw when he pushed the tulle back: a long crack of flesh, peeking out from the black bodysuit. “I’m pretty sure I need lube and to, like, stretch you or something. . . Come on, Wade, you need to talk me through this. I’ve never done this before, not even with a girl.” 

Pool released his cock and used both arms to brace himself on the mattress, parting his legs impossibly farther and rocking his body back towards Peter. His impatience was clear despite being muffled, “I prepped myself in the bathroom. All you gotta do is poke your pretty dick in my hole and go for it.”

Peter tentatively placed a hand on each cheek, massaging lightly and parting the coarse flesh even as Wade squirmed. As far as he was concerned, Wade had already proven that he could not be trusted to take care of himself. “If you think I’m gonna fuck you without touching first, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Wade made an indignant noise, but it was cut off by a loud, needy whimper when Peter touched his thumb to the puckered entrance. The ring of muscle felt slick and wet, and it quivered when Peter rubbed his thumb around it experimentally. He heard Wade cursing quietly into the mattress, but it didn’t sound discouraging, so he pressed more firmly, until the ring gave suddenly and let the digit slip in, right up to the knuckle. Wade grunted then, and arched back until his ass enveloped the whole finger, clenching and agitating around the unyielding intrusion. Peter was as hard as a rock just thinking about sticking his dick in that constricting space, but he also burned with all the curiosity of a scientist with a new toy to explore. The channel felt wet and hot, smooth and delicate like a pussy, but so much tighter and more responsive. The rim fluttered and tensed around his thumb, trying to take it deeper into its slippery embrace.

“You’ve got a greedy little hole, don’t you?” he murmured, half to himself, cuz he suddenly understood what Deadpool had been on about that one time – they were totally starring in their own porn. Besides, the older man clearly liked dirty talk, if he was to go by the way he moaned as his opening clamped down like a vice. 

“Shut up and take me, Spidey,” Deadpool tried to order, but Peter ignored him. “You’re fucking killing me here.”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands, are you?,” Peter teased, bringing his other hand up purposely. He massaged his second thumb into the grasping ring of muscle, and used the opening created by the original finger to slip the second right in next to it, causing Wade to gasp and his whole body to squirm. Palming each firm cheek, Peter spread his ass again, his thumbs gently rotating and rubbing the twitching rim. When the delicate muscle felt loose enough, he dragged his fingers almost all the way out and then plunged them back in; Wade made a helpless little noise, so Peter did it again and then again, until Wade was gasping and rocking back in a rhythm as old as time. 

Finally, he stopped, eliciting a pathetic “Don’t stop!” from Wade. Instead he adjusted his grip on the muscular cheeks and used his thumbs to gently stretch the rim and pull the hole open, causing Wade to moan loudly and rock his body back so forcefully that only Peter’s extraordinary strength kept them braced in place. 

“We’re gonna have to do this with the lights on some time,” Peter commented, voice wet with saliva and lust. “I definitely wanna see you spread open like this.”

Wade whimpered pitifully at the idea, and Peter felt a little bad for bringing it up. Still, curiosity had him bending over awkwardly in the close quarters, so that he could blow warm air on the small opening; but then Wade was trembling and whining brokenly, “Please, Peter, please. I need – unh! Another finger, anything, just put something in me! Fuck, it’s not enough! Please, please don’t tease. . .” 

He trailed off, panting into the sheets, and though Peter liked the switch to his given name, he didn’t much care for the pleading. It sounded more pathetic than wanton, and Peter could only imagine that Wade probably had some pretty poor associations with begging. “You don’t have to beg, Wade, I don’t want that. I shouldn’t’ve teased for so long.”

Peter gently pulled his fingers out and smeared the lube on his aching cock with a groan of his own. A jolt of precum dribbled eagerly from his dick at the realization: he was about to cram his cock into that tiny hole and fuck a man for the first time! He was about to penetrate the powerful and dangerous Deadpool, to plunder his eager body! Indeed, Wade arched his back and shuffled his legs as he tried to spread himself further, but he was already presenting as best he could. “Give it to me, Spidey. I want it so bad.”

Then Peter placed a steadying hand on the small of Wade’s back, again pushing the stupid tulle up and out of way, and lined his dick up with the wet, twitching hole. The puckered rim resisted the pressure for a brief moment, and then slackened, allowing the cockhead entrance; Wade immediately rocked back against the intrusion so that it eased most of the way in. They both moaned at the sensation, but Wade’s sound was long and loud and wanton, and didn’t stop until Peter was fully seated. Then they stilled to catch their breaths and their bearings as Wade’s ass adjusted to the deep penetration. Peter’s head was spinning a little, the hot, smooth channel gripping him more thoroughly and securely than a pussy ever had.

Wade’s weight shifted awkwardly to the side and it took a moment for Peter to realize that he’d moved a hand between his legs to touch himself through the spandex. Peter felt a flare of desire, he wanted to rip the suit’s opening just little further and palm that thick, hot cock, to manipulate it and strip it in time with his thrusts. Alas, his own hands were gripping Wade’s hips, but Peter wasn’t so far go into this porn that he thought he could handle that kind of coordination. Instead, he gave Wade a minute to masturbate himself, rotating his hips and inching in and out with teasing micro-thrusts that drove them both crazy. 

“That feels spectacular,” Wade moaned happily. “Soon I’m gonna paint the wall with my cum.” 

“Not yet you’re not. Get that hand back on the bed, you’re gonna need the leverage.”

Wade obeyed eagerly and immediately. “Fuck yeah. Don’t hold back, Spidey, give it to me hard.” 

Peter couldn’t hold off much longer anyway and didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled his dick almost all the way out, so that just the cockhead teased Wade’s rim, and then he shoved back in almost immediately. They both grunted, and then Peter did it again, snapping his hips a little faster and harder, and then again and again until the grip on his cock loosened enough for him to really pound it in and slam it home. Soon the room was filled with the sound of slick slapping flesh and pleasured groans. It didn’t take either of them long to near climax.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Peter, I’m gonna cum!” Not a second later Wade groaned loudly and his entire body tensed, his hole clenching tightly around the thick intrusion as he came mostly untouched. Peter plunged in again, slowly as he met a new, almost painful resistance, but then the large body relaxed beneath him. Legs still spread wide and braced by his chest and arms, Wade didn’t collapse so much as bounce and sway bonelessly with Peter’s movements, whimpering deliriously as Peter thrust in again, and again, and then one last time, hard and deep and shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum into the loose orifice. Peter practically yelled at the intensity of his pleasure and relief. 

He must’ve blacked out for a moment, cuz the next thing Peter was aware of was some lacey crap tickling his nose and mouth, face apparently smooshed into the frilly shoulder of Deadpool’s frock. The other man was lying on his stomach, head turned away, and so still that Peter thought he might be asleep. He doubted the tight bodice of the dress was very comfortable, so he reached over for the zipper and lowered it as far as it went, to the small of Pool’s back. The masked face turned towards Peter in the dark, perhaps searching his expression for something. 

“That thing doesn’t look very comfortable for sleeping,” Peter explained quietly, lightly stroking his fingers up the broad back underneath. Over such a large surface area, he could feel bigger bumps, deeper groves, and longer ridges under the spandex.

Wade shrugged. “I don’t sleep much.”

Peter continued to gently pet his back, sometimes skipping over the tulle skirt to stroke his thighs too, appreciating a quiet lull in the frequent fireworks that seemingly characterized Deadpool’s life. After a couple long minutes, Wade confessed softly, “I have brain damage, you know.”

Peter’s hand stilled, heart clenching, but then he forced himself to continue. “How’s that even possible? Shouldn’t it heal?”

“The cancer is constantly destroying brain matter, and while the healing factor repairs it, sometimes memories get lost. Cable filled in most of the gaps before he left but new ones still crop up,” Wade explained quietly, but factually. “It’s not usually anything important, mostly stuff from a long time ago. Most of my memories suck anyway, so it’s not much of a loss.”

“That’s still pretty horrible,” Peter answered softly, sympathy swelling in his chest. Had fate never given Wade a break? 

“I only mention it cuz I’d forgotten how nice it could be,” Wade mused pleasantly.

“What, sex?” Peter had to smile a little at the thought. “Whitey doesn’t seem to have forgotten.”

“No, doofus,” Wade replied affectionately. “The cee pee are. . . I can’t even remember the last time I definitely shared spit with someone.”

Peter’s smile bloomed into a grin. “So what you’re saying, in your roundabout way, is that you liked the kissing?”

Wade turned onto his side, head pillowed on his elbow, his other hand free to reach up and caress Peter’s hair and ear. Then he whispered, barely even audible, “You’re so beautiful. . . I don’t understand.”

Peter mirrored Wade’s position and caught his hand. Slow enough to project his actions, he brought the longest finger to his lips and carefully bit on the red glove, then pulled Wade’s hand down, slowly drawing the glove off and letting it drop. Peter placed the now naked palm on his cheek, and Wade tentatively stroked fingers down his jaw. He stopped at Peter’s chin, then his thumb moved up to brush, light as a feather, along his lower lip. The fingers trailed down his neck when Peter yawned suddenly, then slowly down the smooth chest. 

“Can I have part of the bed for the night?”

“♪♬ Whatever makes her happy, on a Saturday night. Whatever makes her happy, whatever makes it all right ♪♬,” Wade crooned softly, snuggling into Peter’s neck even as his fingers trace along the contours of Peter’s lightly defined abs. Goose bumps rose up across his naked skin and his nipples pebbled.

“Still not a girl. And I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” Peter was kinda exhausted, but if things kept going the way they were, he’d be up for a lazy round two. 

“Whitey says that he’s got a large store of sappy songs,” Wade replied, sounding sleepy himself. “And he’ll serenade you with every last one if you give him the chance.”

“Mmmm, you’re positively romantic tonight,” Peter teased, scooting closer so that their bodies were pressed together, despite the rough tulle on his privates. He brushed their noses together and planted a kiss on the covered lips. Then he shivered again, from the cold this time. “You got a sheet somewhere?”

“I usually sleep in my leathers or civvies. But I washed something the other day, it should be in the closet.”

Peter got up and padded to the closet. After a minute of rummaging around the clothes, he located a sheet that smelled clean and came back to the mattress. Pool had taken off the frock and was back to laying on his stomach, arms pillowing his head; he was still wearing his black bodysuit, but even in the dark Peter could make out the red of his mask and his exposed ass crack. Peter rolled up his jeans to use as a pillow and sat cross legged next to Wade, once again drawn to the broad, muscular body laid out before him. This time when he reached out and ran his fingers from the strong neck and down his spine, the skirt of the dress did not stop him. He gently slanted his first two fingers through the uneven slit in the bodysuit and along the cleft of Wade’s ass. His heart rate picked up even as he wondered at his purpose. They were going to sleep, right? That’s what he and his girlfriends had always done after orgasming, despite the fact that he was often up to keep going. 

Wade’s breath hitched, but he parted his legs a little for better access, and Peter couldn’t turn down that invitation. He dipped his two fingers into the seam of warm flesh until they encountered the wet slick oozing from the slackened hole, stickier than before and thick with Peter’s cum. Peter found himself perversely fascinated with the idea that Wade was going to sleep like this, with Peter’s seed pooling inside him and slowly trickling down his thighs. Usually he considered Wade’s poor hygiene a minor turn off, but this was a horse of a different color. He gently pushed his fingers through the stretched out muscle and into the soft flesh of the loosened orifice, marveling that it was the same channel that had gripped him so tightly and milked him so thoroughly; now it accommodated him easily. Peter used his two fingers to scoop up a little of the warm cum and massaging it into and around the delicate rim. Wade whined sleepily at the movements, and the sound triggered a dirty fantasy to unfold in Peter’s mind. Given the dress and other kinks they'd touched upon, Peter was pretty sure Wade would play along too, if he asked. 

Thrilled by his own sexual daring, and a confidence he had never felt with any previous partner, Peter leaned forward to whisper in Pool’s ear, fingertips still curled just inside his slippery hole. “Hey, you game for another round?”

Wade squirmed a little around the teasing fingers. “Fuck, Spidey, always. It’s, like, the curse of the healing factor.” 

“Tell me about it,” Peter commiserated. How was he supposed to suggest this without sounding like a complete idiot? “If you’re up for a little, uh, role play, maybe you could pretend to be asleep?”

Wade chuckled quietly, and Peter was glad he couldn’t see his deep flush. “Sure, I can get down with a little kink-in-training. Of course, you can always get the ball gag out if it’s just a ploy to get me to stop talking. You wouldn’t be the first to prefer me with something crammed in my mouth to shut me up.”

Peter tensed, torn between the arousal and anger that Wade’s words provoked. Was it Cable who preferred to silence his partner with a ball gag than a kiss? The subsequent rush of tender sympathy prompted Peter to firmly push his fingers further into Wade’s wet entrance, groping and searching and prompting a muffled moan. “Wade, I don’t want to shut you up. Usually I find your dirty mouth pretty hot.”

Peter finally found his prostate and rubbed vigorously, so that Wade groaned loudly and his loose hole tried weakly to tighten. “Fuck! If you’re gonna do that, it’s gonna be hard to keep quiet.”

“Well. . .” Peter tried to think quickly, as he hadn’t really fleshed out the details of the fantasy. “You don’t have to be completely quiet. And, uh, I imagine you would probably wake up at the end.”

“Probably?” Wade laughed, rolling over so Peter's fingers pulled out of his body. He sat up, cum surely dripping out onto the sheets, so that he could look Peter in the eyes, even if it was dark and Peter couldn’t really do the same through the mask. “You mean if you ever really slipped it to me while I slept?”

“No!” Peter replied immediately, alarmed at the suggestion and shaking his head quickly. 

“You could if you wanted to,” Wade replied with a careless shrug. “I’d wake up pretty quick, but I could still pretend. It might be kinda hot to wake up with you finger-deep in my ass.”

Peter was distinctly uncomfortable with Wade’s offer, and now, with his arousal dampened, he regretted making any suggestions at all. Maybe he wasn’t ready to explore the sexual role playing, if he could barely verbalize his desires. He stewed silently in his unease for long seconds until finally Wade seemed to pick up on it. He turned back to lay on his front, “Or we can do it your way. I’m cool.”

Peter sat motionless for a moment longer, trying to decide if he still wanted to go through with it. He broke out of his stupor long enough to trace eyes up shapely calves and thighs, to the muscular swell of Wade’s exposed ass, and then further, past the tapered waist, along the corded back, and up to strong, broad shoulders. He realized, without much surprise, that he was really into this wild, crazy mercenary, and there was no one else with which he could imagine exploring the different flavors of his sexuality. He didn’t doubt that they could still recapture the mood. 

With a reassuring pat to the back of Wade’s thigh, he finally asked, “Is the lube in the bathroom?”

“By the sink.”

Peter padded to the bathroom. It was his first time in there, and he immediately noticed the empty space on top of the sink, where there had once been a mirror, but he wasn’t surprised. He took a moment to wash his hands and his dick, both tacky from dried cum, then retrieved the tube of lubricant. When he grabbed the large towel draped on the door, he was surprised to see the full length mirror. He’d wanted to use the towel to clean up afterwards, but he chose instead to drape it back over the mirror. He could only imagine Wade’s reaction if he was to unexpectedly be confronted with his reflection. 

Padding back into the bedroom, Peter left the door cracked open, flooding the room with a thin veil of light. Wade lay still and silent on his front, head pillowed on his arms and legs splayed slightly; he didn’t stir as Peter approached, which he took as consent to the faint lighting. Hopefully the success of their last joining had eased some of his fears. Peter stood at the foot of the bed and looked at the prone body, and even though he knew the vulnerability was an act, his cock hardened. Just how far would Wade let him go before waking up?

Peter slinked closer, and with a little effort his approach was virtually inaudible. He kneeled next to the still form, causing the mattress to dip slightly, but there was nothing he could do about that. He put down the lube and spread both hands wide and held them a mere half inch above Wade. Like with the kissing, he suspected that having his touch restricted only made him want it more. Peter lowered just the tips of his fingers to Wade’s waist, then brushed ghostly touches up the back of his rib cage. He could feel the irregularities of the skin under the spandex, but he was much more interested in the hard lines and swells of Wade’s impressive muscles. He traced the hard planes of Wade’s lats, up to the deltoids of his shoulders, and finally along the trapezius until both hands met at the base of his skull. Then he used feather light touches to caress the back of his head, realizing gradually that Wade didn’t have any hair under his hood. Peter’s chest tightened at the trust being displayed, and he wondered if he was taking advantage. Wade probably hadn’t realized that Peter’s sleeping fantasy would entail such a significant degree of unfettered exploration; Peter himself had barely understood his own motivations. 

The tender emotions rushed straight to Peter’s dick, prompting him to change his approach. He carefully slung a knee over Wade’s narrow waist, then adjusted his weight so that he was straddling his hips without pressing down on the larger body. He gently fingered the bottom of Wade’s mask, where it lay at his neck, and wondered if it made the other man nervous. It almost certainly didn’t make Wade as hot as it was making Peter, so he “accidentally” brushed his hard cock against Wade’s back to let him know what this was doing for him. Then, bracing one hand on the bed above Wade’s shoulder, Peter leaned down and shifted the edge of the mask up just enough to plant a feathery kiss on the bony vertebra at the base of his neck. As he shifted the mask back down, he thought he felt a weak tremor move through the prone body.

Peter righted himself, shuffling carefully back so that he was straddling Wade’s thighs. The muscles there were so thick that he had to splay his knees wide and his jutting cock bumped Wade’s ass without even trying. Peter immediately realized that what he wanted to do wasn’t going to work, but he still took a minute to lightly run his cock along seam of Wade’s exposed crack. The light from the bathroom was enough that he could make out some scarring, but it didn’t detract from the erotic sight of his throbbing dick lying between two muscular ass cheeks. A little precum dribbled out and Peter had to restrain the impulse to rub it along the already dirty cleft. 

“Shit, Wade,” he whispered helplessly. “I’m so hot for you right now.”

Wade slept on, which only made Peter impossibly harder. He had to move his left knee so that he was only straddling one thigh, giving him enough room to gently push Wade’s free leg out. Now there was enough room to really get at the ass that had just recently, yet most thoroughly bewitched him. He had doubts now whether he would ever want to go back to pussy, though he wasn’t quite ready to explore that thorny issue. Instead he bent sideways and reached down to cup Wade’s balls. The sacks were held close to his body by the spandex, but Peter could still roll and knead them gently, smirking a little when those powerful thighs quivered. 

After a minute, he contorted a little farther so that he could reach past that delicate skin and underneath Wade’s hips. While intellectually he had known that Wade was okay with this game, it was still a relief to feel the cock there, swollen and heavy and pressing firmly into the mattress. Peter felt a sudden stab of gratitude, like he should turn Wade over and thank him by sucking that mighty cock. He’d been dying to get his hands, and mouth, on it ever since he’d been allowed to handle it through Wade’s black and red briefs, when he’d realized just how long and thick it was. Peter filed the tempting, mouth-watering thought away for later; right now he had other plans. He wrapped his fingers lightly around Wade’s cock and gave it a few awkward strokes, hampered by the angle and the spandex. The material near the tip was tacky with drying jizz, and Peter resolved to make Wade change after this, or else tomorrow morning would not be the sexy kind of dirty. 

Peter soon moved on, lifting his right leg so that both knees were pressing between Wade’s open thighs, carefully wedging them even farther apart. Aroused as he was, his heart rate and breathing picked up speed at the wanton sight. “Fuck, Wade. When you sleep like that, how can I help myself?”

It’s like you want me to molest you, he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say those words. Surely molestation wasn’t something that should be featuring in his fantasies, right? And yet, he knew that part of the appeal of this current scenario was having near-total freedom to explore, to fondle, to plunder. Peter was too aroused to linger long on these thoughts. He grabbed the tube of lubricant and squirted it loudly into his hand, then slicked up his dick. Then he used the wet hand to further part the cheeks, enough that he could see the sloppy hole clench feebly at the brush of night air. Peter squirted the cool lube right on twitching muscle, and Wade’s whole body shuddered at the contact.

The movement caused Peter’s adrenaline to spike, accompanied by the instinctive urge to hurry, quick, before Wade woke up completely. Peter dropped the subtlety and tossed the lube to the side so that he could use both hands to impatiently part Wade’s cheeks and smear his ready cock through the lube, roughly bumping and pushing at the loosened rim of his hole. Wade whimpered sleepily then, body stirring slightly. The performance was exquisite, exciting Peter to thrust forward impatiently, and Wade’s well used entrance was relaxed and slick enough to give in easily, allowing the intrusion to push in quickly and completely. Wade cried out in shock and untethered arousal, followed by Peter’s growl of satisfaction as he plunged in again.  
Peter started up a dominating rhythm as he rutted roughly into the hot, twitching orifice, burying his dick as deep as it would go. Wade performed helpless little whimpers with each thrust and they were so perfect that Peter felt like a man possessed. 

“Yeah, yeah, you like that?” he gasped, words spilling out of his mouth unbidden. “Your ass is still dripping my cum from the last time.” 

Wade didn’t miss a beat, using what little leverage he had to cant and grind back. “Fuck yeah, Spidey! Fuck my sloppy hole!”

Wade’s enthusiastic reply spurred Peter on, excitement building quickly. “You can’t get enough, can you? You’re always up for it.”

“Any time, any place,” Wade agreed eagerly. “Don’t even ask, just spread me open and give it to me.”

“Oh, I will,” Peter panted. “Someone needs to keep this slutty hole stretched out and filled up.”

The words were intoxicating, and Peter was the one who actually couldn’t get enough, not at this awkward angle where he was basically laying on Wade and literally screwing him into the mattress. He stuttered to a stop and Wade moaned piteously, “Don’t stop!”

“Hands and knees,” Peter directed, gripping Wade’s hips and helping to pull up without breaking their desperate connection. In the new position everything was suddenly easier. Peter pulled almost all the way out and then slammed back in, eliciting groans from both of them. 

“Fuck! I feel like a bitch in heat!” Wade cried out, sounding every bit the part.

“You take it like bitch in heat!” Peter repeated, brain firing on too few cylinders to come up with anything original. He used his grip on Wade’s hips to yank him back onto his cock again and again, flesh slapping loudly and the oozing mess in Wade’s hole making wet sucking sounds. Peter could feel himself getting close, so he reached around to rub urgently, if clumsily at Wade’s cock; but the awkward angle fucked up their rhythm and it wasn’t what Peter wanted anyway. Still jerking into the pliant body, Peter growled in frustration. His fingers encountered the stretched slit of the bodysuit, and without thinking he ripped the seam upwards to free the fat cock. Wade moaned loudly then, as Peter took a strangle hold on the swollen, massive thing that had been taunting him, just out of reach. Finally he could strip that monster dick mercilessly, in perfect synchronicity to his punishing lunges.

“You thought you could hide this from me, keep it from me,” Peter grunted breathlessly, thrusts growing erratic as he neared his climax. “But I want it, slut! It’s mine.” 

Peter’s fist rubbed down the rough, hot length one more time and Wade choked out a loud, throaty sob as his dick throbbed and sprayed a thick release. Peter was mere seconds behind, the sudden clamp of Wade’s abused hole enough to push him over the edge. Wade collapsed forward, and Peter let himself fall with the large body, and together they breathed raggedly until their heart rates evened out. Peter nuzzled the nape of Wade’s neck, sweat cooling on his body as he luxuriated in the heady smell of baby lotion and cum and Wade.

Finally Wade mumbled, “I might have to reevaluate my position on sleeping if I get to wake up to you pounding my ass like that.”

“Mmmm. . . Tonight has been the best sex of my life, hands down.”

Wade chuckled. “You’re still learning, my young Padawan.”

Peter kissed the nobby vertebra from earlier, then slowly pealed his body off of Wade. His soft dick slipped easily out of the seeping wreckage of Wade’s orifice, and still he couldn’t resist palming the cheeks apart for a moment to look at the now gaping, filthy entrance. Wade hummed in satisfaction. “You like what you see? Your pretty dick did that to me.” 

“Shit, Wade. How could you think that I’d want to shut you up?” Peter sighed, running the less sticky hand through his hair. He was feeling sentimental and all fucked out. “Maybe when I have to listen to all that self-hating crap, but not when we’re doing this. No one else I’ve been with has been into dirty talk, or sexting, or maybe we’ve just been too inhibited to try. But I fucking love your big, nasty mouth.” 

Wade was silent for a moment before rolling over and pulling Peter down to lay his head on a strong shoulder. “I might actually be able to sleep tonight.”

“We’re disgusting. We really need to shower.”

“I don’t care,” Wade muttered sleepily into his scalp, and Peter thought he might be smelling his hair. “Maybe tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: EXTREMELY graphic description of anal sex. Mild kink. Also, very dirty talk.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED! See end notes for detailed warnings for potentially disturbing imagery and plot.

Wade didn’t sleep much, between the nightmares and the decreased need, so he wasn’t surprised to wake up and find Peter completely zonked out. He’d heard rumor of a supposed Spideysense, but it didn’t seem to register the mercenary slip away, or the protracted shower that took place in the next room. Wade didn’t normally care much for hygiene, but then he didn’t normally care to impress anyone, and generally felt that he didn’t possess anything worth taking care of. Peter’s involvement changed the matter considerably, and Wade made sure to clean thoroughly, inside and out, all the while thinking dirty thoughts about the younger man. 

[Young and smoking HOT, don’t forget that. And totally into us, probably cuz he’s a little kinky. The stars have aligned and it’s perfect. . . So don’t screw this up for us.]

[[We’re totally gonna screw this up.]]

“Nice use of the words us and we.”

Out of the shower, Wade pretended he could make himself more appealing with baby lotion and baby powder, remembering yesterday’s compliment with a jolt of pleasure. He ignored the covered mirror and felt pretty good about himself as he covered his skin with a pair of clean jeans, a mostly clean red hoodie, and his soft mask. His black gloves, however, well, one was missing in the bedroom and the other was filthy; and he’d thrown the red pair away in Florida after an unfortunate accident with a chainsaw. After a brief debate with the boxes, he decided that it wasn’t the end of the world if he went without. He wasn’t going to fool himself that Peter hadn’t got an eyeful last night. The way he had stared so intently at and played with Wade’s ass, there was no way Spiderman didn’t have some degree of vision enhancement. The thought was mostly arousing, if also unnerving. 

Deadpool inhaled a bag of potato chips and watched bad telly until well after the sun came up. Finally, the boredom and anticipation prompted him to take matters into his own hands by cooking the only thing in his fridge beside leftovers – an unopened package of bacon. 

[♪♬ Quick to the point, to the point no fakin’! Cookin’ MCs like a pound of bacon! ♪♬] 

[[Ugh, veto! It’s too damn early for Vanilla Ice.]]

He smirked when he heard the shower start a minute later. There was no way Peter did as good of a job cleaning himself, cuz he was out of the shower and dressed in last night’s clothes just as the food was ready. Then he was standing in front of Pool, looking cute with his wet spiked hair and a shy grin. 

“Hi there, lover boy,” Pool greeted, using a pair of forks to tong the bacon out of the hot pan. Peter’s eyes lingered on his bare hands for a moment, but then focused on the paper plate. 

“Morning. . . I’m starving.”

“Good. It’s for you.”

[♪♬ You know it’s truuue; Everything I do, I do it for you! ♪♬]

“The Bryan Adams is almost as bad as Vanilla Ice,” Wade hissed under his breath.

Peter smirked at him for a moment, then he used his fingers to carefully (comically) pick up a hot, greasy slice and shove it in his mouth. “You got any coffee?”

Pool shook his head. “Just some Red Bull on top of the fridge.”

Peter pulled a face. “That stuff is disgusting.”

Pool shrugged and put the dirty tong forks down on the counter. “All I got.”

“Share with me, I know you want to.” Peter picked up the paper plate and moved it temptingly near Pool’s nose, causing the mercenary’s adrenaline to spike.

[[It’s so fun being us! Even a simple meal becomes a crisis, it’s like we’re certifiable or something.]]

[Shut it, I want some goddamn bacon!]

“I never could say no to bacon,” Wade agreed hesitantly, then carefully rolled his mask up above his lip, covering his mouth with a practiced move. Peter, however, put down the plate and was suddenly right in his space. Bodies bumping together and mouths only a couple inches apart, Peter deliberately covered Wade’s naked hand with his own. “Can I kiss you first?”

[He’s already seen everything, DP! Chill the fuck out already.]

Wade nodded faintly and let Peter draw his hand away and bring their lips together. Peter didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss and slip a slick and savory tongue into Wade’s mouth. The merc moaned in satisfaction as taste and tactile senses lit up. 

“Mmm. You smell good,” Peter observed after a short, intense make out session. 

The praise gave Wade a titillating rush of pleasure, and he followed the impulse to rub his semi into Peter’s stomach. “You taste like delicious bacon, and I’m starving too.”

Peter grinned at him, backing up so that they could both stand at the counter and demolish the entire pound of bacon. A couple times Wade had to redirect his drifting hand away from his mouth, but otherwise he ate as he would alone. 

“I hate to eat and run, but I don’t want to be too late for Aunt May,” Peter explained while washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

[=( But we could spend the day getting our freak on!]

“Family affair or a round three?” Pool held his palms up like he was a balance scale, then pretended to weigh strongly in favor of round three.

Peter smiled. “That is tempting. But family’s important, and she’s all I got left.”

“Folks dead?” Pool asked indelicately, mask already back in place and leaning back on the counter. “Mine are.”

Peter moved closer then, drying his hands on his jeans. “Mine too. They died in a plane crash when I was four, so I don’t remember very much. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, and they, like, loved me and took care of me and everything. I’m not all maudlin about it.”

“Ha! I bet that’s what your girlfriends said about you.”

“Not just them.” Peter leaned back against the opposite counter to look at Pool as he asked, “And your parents? What happened, if I can ask?”

[[Pay attention, Whitey! It’s time for another refresher and you fucking need it.]]

Pool shrugged, crossing his arms defensively and tucking his hands under his elbows. “Mother died when I was four, the Big C, which is a fitting start to my sob story. Raised by my father, who basically beat and berated me for over a decade. And I was terribly maudlin about it at fifteen, plus I was a juvenile delinquent. One night when I was out drinking with my friends, he came to get me and started beating the shit outta me in the parking lot. So I didn’t interfere when one of my friends palmed his gun and shot him dead.” 

Peter studied him silently for a moment, a concerned little frown wrinkling his forehead. “Do you regret that?”

[[Hell no, that fucker deserved to die for everything he’d done.]]

“Fuck no. That bastard hated me and beat my momma before me, I didn’t owe him shit.” Deadpool pushed away from the counter to walk Peter and his little frown to the door. Enough with the touchy feely Share Time. He’d been stupid to ask, of course he’d have to reveal his own gory details; if only every inquiry didn’t seem to end that way. 

Peter stopped him right before the door, with a hand on his bicep. “I’m not judging you, Wade. I’ve also. . . let someone close to me die.”

There was an awkward silence as Spidey waited for a response that Pool didn’t want or know how to give. Finally, he gave up on a segue; he angled his head towards Peter, without looking directly, and asked with false indifference, “Am I gonna see you again some time?” 

[[Drum roll please!]]

[Dum dum dum duuum!]

Peter looked like he objected to the change in conversation, but after a long moment he shifted gears, “If you’re up for a different kind of action, Stark gave me a lead on one of Osborn’s labs. Some of their systems will be going offline for maintenance tomorrow night, so I’m gonna infiltrate the place. You could tag along in you want.”

The offer thrilled Wade on a couple levels. “And by “tag along”,” he drawled, complete with exaggerated quotation mark fingers, “do you mean mess around in dark rooms or save your cute ass?”

“Does it have to be one or the other?” Peter countered.

“Not at all. Sounds like a blast.” The attractive but stern scowl prompted Wade to clarify, “Uh. . . not literally.” 

“No explosives, or serious artillery, so kindly leave the Soviet machine gun at home. Don’t make me regret this, this is a serious mission.” Peter craned up slightly to give Pool a quick peck on clothed lips, robbing any sting from the words. “I’ll text you the details.”

[[He’s definitely gonna regret this.]]

! ^_^ !

The Oscorp lab was a labyrinthian nightmare. 

Deadpool met up with a fully suited Spiderman at twenty three hundred hours, and together they infiltrated a large, outwardly innocuous drug testing facility in Newark. Deadpool wore his leathers and was armed rather light for him, but he still had his katanas sheathed to his back and his favorite handguns holstered to his thighs. They crawled through the vents for an extended period of time as they navigated, poorly, through a labyrinth of hallways and rooms that were not in any of the layouts. 

“You should admit when you’re lost, you know,” Deadpool harangued. “We can always shoot our way out of the vents.”

“That’s basically the definition of going in guns blazing,” Spidey replied in all seriousness. “But we need more than dozens of empty examination and observation rooms.”

“Well, it is the middle of the night. Even evil torturers gotta keep the nine to five if they want the missus happy at home.”

“But where are the subjects?” Spidey asked ominously.

There was no good answer to that, so Deadpool went back to watching the flex of Spidey’s spandex clad ass and the shift of his junk as they crawled past another handful of rooms. He was half hard in his cup by the time they found a vent access big enough for both of them to fit through, dropping from the ceiling into a large curtained off bay. 

Spiderman padded forward silently and pulled back the nearest curtain to reveal a naked, mutilated figure strapped to a gurney. Horrific skin disfigurement obscured any identifying externalities, and an oxygen line ran under its nose, an IV into its wrist, and a catheter into its ruined groin. The flesh appeared to rise and dip with the rhythm of breathing, but otherwise was completely still. When Spidey just stood and stared for longer than was healthy, Deadpool moved to tug the curtain closed and block his view of the abomination. 

“Looks like acid burns.”

[[We’ve been that sad schmuck before.]]

He was taken off guard as a FLASHback rocketed through his brain – screaming and thrashing as he was submerged in a biting cold liquid that seared his skin off and ate into the flesh underneath; such agony, WHY?! Why wouldn’t it stop?! – and then vanished, leaving his insides clenched and frozen, but adrenaline rushing and senses sharp. Spidey hung back as Deadpool stepped over to the next curtain and yanked it back to reveal a bald head and torso with even more tubing entering through four limbless stumps. This creature had a large feeding tube down its throat and a couple shunts attached to its abdomen.

“Clean amputation, probably surgically removed. Scarring suggests shrapnel trauma prior to limb removal.”

[[And that poor fucker.]]

Another FLASHback tore through his synapses – strapped to a table, drugged silent but still aware and filled with petrified horror; Dr. Killbrew sawing off his leg, his other leg just a ruined bloody stump – and then dropped him back in a frozen reality with a phantom ache in his thighs and a faint tremble in his knees. He moved over to the next curtain with a growing obsession.  
The third spaced contained a hairless, naked woman, barely recognizable as a woman beyond the lack of a penis. She was so emaciated that virtually every bone was visible through papery skin, from her ribs and the grotesque protrusions that were her hips and shoulders. An IV ran to her wrist and a couple shunts fused tubes to her torso, but she was struggling to breathe unassisted, straining to fill her lungs with short, rattling gasps. 

“Late stage starvation.”

[[Been her too. That’s what happens when they lock you up and then actually forget about you.]]

This time Deadpool braced mentally for the FLASHback – contorted painfully into a cage meant for a large dog, so fucking hungry he was literally starving to death, so hungry he started gnawing on his own arm – 

[I’m hungry, is there any more bacon? Anyone else for a chimichanga right about now?]

Deadpool gagged a little, then raised his mask a fraction so that he could spit out the acidic saliva. Spidey said something, but Pool wasn’t listening anymore. He stepped up to the next curtain, having to know, having to see whatever half-living nightmare lay on the other side. This time it was a mostly intact male with the side of his skull bandaged but clearly caved in. The man’s whole body seized and shuddered in synch with the beeping machine next to him, his eyes partially open and partially aware.

“Brain damage, obviously. Looks like they’re shocking him, for whatever purpose.” 

[[Yeah, definitely been there. Right this second, he’s wishing desperately that you’d stab a rusty stake through his heart.]]

[Why don’t I remember any of this?]

FLASH! – hammer to the skull – FLASH! – fiery explosion spears his cranium with shrapnel – FLASH! – high caliber bullet to the head blows it to pieces – FLASH! – Big Boi Big Boi Big Boi – FLASH! – Dr. Killbrew performing brain surgery on him without consent, without anesthesia, without humanity . . .

Deadpool’s head twitched involuntarily and he found it hard to tear his eyes away from the thing on the table. Finally, Spidey drew back the curtain, interrupting his view, then when Pool moved hesitantly towards the fifth curtain, Spidey stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. “We don’t need to see them all to save them. . . We’re gonna take this place down.”

“There’s no saving this lot. They’re better off dead, believe me.” 

Deadpool followed Spiderman out of the bay and into the empty hallway. They hurried down several eerie corridors before they had to leap up and cling to the ceiling as three figures in yellow biohazard suits hurried by. As they dropped to the ground, Deadpool stated, “AIM. If they’re really working together, then Osborn’s made some dangerous friends. . . And if the freak show back there wasn’t enough to convince you, you might wanna holla at yo backup.”

“What backup?” Spidey muttered, again moving quickly down the hallway.

“I dunno. . . Captain America, Iron Man, the HULK?” Deadpool whispered loudly, angry that Spidey would come out here basically alone, and it allowed him to access the rage and terror he felt at what he’d witnessed in the medical bay. “Someone who can wipe this Hellhole off the face of the Earth?”

“I’ll send them a message now, but it’s gonna take a while,” he replied, typing quickly into his phone. “No one else knows I’m here, Pool. You’re my backup.”

“Great. Cuz I’m so reliable,” he gruffed, still kinda pissed, but he couldn’t help the flare of pride. 

[[This way if we fuck up, he won’t be around to hate us. Cuz of course we will survive. And DO NOT start singing Gloria Gaynor!]]

[You’re no fun, that should totally be our theme song.]

They didn’t have time to hide from the next two goons, which they dispatched separately with a webbing and a sleeper hold. Deadpool performed clinically, despite his inner rage, in an intentional display of self-restraint for Spidey’s benefit. It wasn’t too challenging if he pretended it was a video game, with deductions for fatalities and mass destruction. Like that they moved swiftly through several corridors until they came upon a centralized office with guards at the door. Spidey webbed one, while Deadpooled right-hooked the other one straight the fuck out.

Deadpool pulled his guns from their holsters and stood ready at the door. Spidey took the guard’s ID, then, with a nod to Deadpool, scanned open the door and slipped through. It only took the AIM goons a couple seconds to react, and by then Deadpool was covering Spidey with a spray of gunfire from each furious fist. 

[HahaHA! Say hello to my little friends!] Bang. Bang.

“Fuck yeah, love that movie! SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIENDS!” Bang. Bang.

Here it was harder to incapacitate without killing, and three goons were immediately nailed with headshots. They’d had their own weapons pointed at Spiderman, and Deadpool wasn’t about to risk his life, whatever selfless delusions the hero had about not killing.

“What’d you say?!” Spiderman shouted, leaping at the closest goon. His gun clattered to the floor and Spidey drove an uppercut into the goon’s jaw.

They took out eight AIM minions, then herded another half dozen into the corner at gun point. Three of the hostages took off their head gear and claimed to be scientists there under duress; a beat later they were all claiming that. Spidey shook his head in frustration and went to access the servers while Deadpool watched over the minions. 

“Real nice operation you got going here,” Deadpool commented with false casualness. “Hitting all the check points: mutilation, amputation, brain damage. Whatever you’ve been working on is keeping these pitiful creatures alive. Some kind of healing factor perhaps? Good luck with that, by the way, I don’t envy you its track record.”

“You’re not wrong. It’s got an abysmal record,” agreed of the scientists, a woman evidently, having removed the head mask and claimed to be coerced. “I told Osborn that, but he was quite insistent on the direction of study.”

“Which was?”

“Healing. Immortality basically,” she clarified calmly. “It’s the quest of all small minds, isn’t it? In one way or another.”

“Is that supposed to sound deep, bitch?” Deadpool snapped, not liking this broad at all.

[Slash her up! There hasn’t been enough blood in this shoot out!]

“All done,” Spiderman called, but not a second later klaxon started blaring, complete with the Alien-style red and blue flashing lights. 

The AIM minions stirred rebelliously. “That’s the autodestruct alarm!” “He triggered the failsafe!”

“Let’s take these people and vamoose!” Pool yelled.

“You go! I’ve gotta stop this!” came the frantic reply and Deadpool did not like the desperation he heard in the hero’s voice.

“Fuck!” Deadpool muttered to himself, moving backwards towards Spidey so he didn’t have to yell so loud. He kept his gun trained on the hostages. “Let it blow! We need to get outta here!” 

The console beeped at Spidey for another failed attempt and he growled in frustration, “All those people in the medical bay!”

“Those things want to die, trust me on this. Even the ones with extensive brain damage, the body still knows, it still craves an end to the suffering,” Deadpool assured darkly, though he was filled with dismay as his earnest, knowing words fell on deaf ears. “Peter, please.”

Deadpool studied the mask and the distressed movements for long seconds, then reluctantly forced himself to come up with an alternate solution. He marched back to the hostages, grabbed chatty bitch’s arm, then dragged her violently over to the console where Spidey was desperately typing away. “How do we shut this thing down?!”

“You can’t! Captain Husker was the only one on base with the codes!” she snapped, pointing down at a biohazard suit with blood dripping from its messy head wound (Big Boi for sure). 

“There must be some other way, think! Or you’ll be as useful to me as that guy!” He pulled out Big Boi and shoved it roughly under her jaw. Spidey’s head flicked up to glance to watch the interaction, but he didn’t move to interfere. 

[Yes!!! Shoot the bitch!]

“Wait!” she cried, finally losing her composure. “There’s, uh, a manual override. But it has to be entered every five minutes at this station, until someone with high enough clearance resets the autodestruct.”

That didn’t sound all that difficult. “I can do that.”

“What? No!” Spiderman objected immediately, hero complex raring to go. “You evacuate, and then call the authorities. I’ll stay here and enter the manual override.”

“That’s stupid,” Deadpool sneered. If there was one thing he had little use for, it was a mortal’s unnecessary protection. “You have a better relationship with the authorities, maybe you can even get Stark to help reset this. I, meanwhile, can survive the potential autodestruct. I’ll be manning the station, fuck you very much.”

[That does sound exactly like our kind of gig.]

Spiderman stared at him in angry silence, and Deadpool could just imagine the glare under the mask. The image was perfected by Spidey’s pouty concession, “Fine.”

[Awww. Our lil Spidey gets all hot and bothered when we call the shots.]

Spiderman turned back to the consol and typed briefly, locating the manual override. 

“What’s the code?” Deadpool barked, nudging the lady with his boot. She gave it up and Spiderman entered it. The klaxons fell silent, though they left a ringing echo in everyone’s ears; the lights, however, continued to flash ominously. 

“You just bought us five minutes,” the AIM cow summarized, back to her eerie calm. Deadpool shoved her towards the other hostages, gun following her movements. 

“I’ve got this, don’t worry. Come back with help.” 

Spiderman hesitated briefly before quickly squeezing his bicep and slipping by. “I will.”

Deadpool watched Spidey herd the minions out, then he moved over to a couple large screens comprised of a couple dozen camera feeds each. AIM personnel were streaming out, but he was able to catch the occasional glimpse of Spiderman skittering or swinging by. When he looked over at the second screen, his eyes narrowed sharply at the feeds. Two rows were slowly rotating through the curtained bay they’d first explored, showing a dozen twisted, dying bodies at a time, then showing a dozen more, then a dozen more. Legless, armless, skinned, disemboweled; impaled, mutilated, emaciated; deformed, damaged, made less than whole in every way imaginable; and kept alive by a freak show of medical marvels. Wade’s own life flashed before his eyes with each new tortured creature.

Deadpool felt lead in his stomach and on his chest, so that he struggled to fill his lungs. He’d lived through what these animated carcasses were enduring, and all he’d ever wanted then was to be put out of his misery. It always felt like a curse to come back after a particularly horrific death, as though humans weren’t meant to survive such extreme trauma; as though living beings weren’t supposed to come back like so much recycled meat. Deadpool felt a profound kinship with these sacks of hurting flesh, and knew with sudden conviction that he wouldn’t let them continue to suffer. The ache in his own cancerous skin flared in sympathy for the physical agony that these half-dead creatures were in. Who would advocate for these mutilated things if not him?

[[What the Hell is SHIELD or the police or fucking Stark going to do with this mockery of life? Move them, make them more comfortable?! God forbid, try to fucking save them?! There’s obviously only one humane thing to do.]]

[Yellow, you are an unsung genius. Best reason EVER to blow ourselves up!]

“Spidey is gonna be pissed,” Deadpool muttered, looking back at the first screen to track the evacuation. He reset the autodestruct one more time to give everyone enough time to get out, then he pulled a seat over to the camera feeds. He made himself comfortable, propping his feet up on the table, and let himself fall back into the rotating footage. In black and white, with the subjects so deathly still, most of the cameras looked like they were displaying old photos, perhaps something one would find in a Nazi camp or a medieval teaching hospital. As the feed cycled back, Deadpool began naming the creatures: Scarface, Noface, Freddy K, Skinny Bones, Frank N. Stein, Stitch Lips, The Fly (fuck knows what had been done there), Stumpy Sr and Stumpy Jr, Elephant Man –

The countdown ended and he felt a relief so powerful and overwhelming that he knew it to be from all the suffering things whose torturous waiting had finally come to an end. And then the facility blew sky high and they were all granted blissful oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Human experimentation, semi-graphic descriptions of test subjects, flashbacks, dehumanization, euthanasia, suicide.  
> PLEASE REVIEW!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

“NO!” Spiderman yelled, as explosions rocked the ground, running desperately towards the lab’s front door. But almost immediately the building and surrounding ground started collapsing rather neatly in on itself, and he could do nothing but watch in horror. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset about Deadpool, who would survive (he hoped/assumed), or the test subjects, who most certainly wouldn’t. 

Iron Man showed up less than a minute later and the Quinjet a couple minutes after that, just in time for Captain America to run interference with the authorities. After a quick sitrep, Black Widow and Hawkeye ran off to round up the AIM scientists and goons, a good number of which had already disappeared. Iron Man helped Spiderman move debris, joined shortly by Cap, while Bruce took Spiderman’s flash drive and started analyzing it in the Quinjet. The Avengers worked together like a well oiled machine, and Spiderman was grateful for their help, despite his reluctance to work too closely with them. 

“Wait a minute. You mean we’re gonna spend hours digging through rubble for Deadpool?” Iron Man questioned skeptically. “I mean, he doesn’t really need to be found, does he? He’ll just heal somehow and then magically reappear at some really inconvenient time.”

Spiderman tried not to let his frustration show, but he was not in the best emotional spot at the moment. “We’re looking for survivors. So if we happen to find him, I think he’d qualify.”

“I don’t like it. What was he doing in an AIM base anyway?” Cap asked, frowning deeply. “They don’t usually contract for his services.”

Spidey braced for the reaction, but he wasn’t going to lie. “You always say I should have some backup. So I brought some.”

“You brought Deadpool as backup?” Cap reiterated, voice thick with disbelief. 

Iron Man actually stopped working so that he could pop open his face mask and whistle, long and low. “No wonder the place went ka-blooey.”

“I told you, that was the autodestruct. He stayed behind so everyone else could get out,” Peter retorted, but even as he said it he wondered. The mercenary had insisted that the test subjects would want to be put out of their misery, and it wasn’t much of a leap to think that he had taken the matter into his own hands. Peter was both appalled and furious at Deadpool, but also. . . not. Somehow the world seemed a little less horrific for no longer housing such abominations. There was no obvious way to help them, and Peter would’ve tormented himself trying.

After almost an hour of heavy lifting, they’d cleared enough debris for the smallest heroes, Spiderman and Black Widow, to literally crawl and shimmy through the demolished corridors. Spiderman pointed Widow in the direction of the med bay, then made his way carefully to the control room. 

“Shit!” Spidey cursed in dismay. “Wade!” 

Clearly the servers had been specifically rigged to explode, as they were completely demolished, shrapnel and scorch marks radiating out from their burnt out remains. Several corpses had been torn apart during the explosion, and Spidey searched the body parts for any identifiable pieces. The sooty katanas pointed him in the right direction even as a painful rock lodged in his throat; then when he bent down to pick up an arm and noticed the red leather fused to the skin, his face contorted grotesquely in an effort not to cry. Intellectually, he realized that Deadpool had apparently survived similar and worse deaths, but it was hard to believe it viscerally when confronted with his itty bitty pieces. 

Overwhelmed briefly by his fear and anger and despair, he screamed his release, “Damn you, Wade! You better not be dead, you asshole! I’m still mad at you!”

Then quieter, picking up a bloody chunk of Deadpool’s mask, “You better come back to me.”

He gathered what pieces he could find, along with the katanas, then dragged them out wrapped in a Banner Blanket. Crawling out from the wreckage, he was overwhelmed by all the cameras and emergency personnel, and with the sun coming up, there was also a growing number of bystanders. The challenge of slipping away and crossing the river back to New York City, all while wearing his filthy costume and hauling a bloody blanket of body parts, seemed nigh impossible. 

“You can leave that with us,” Stark suggested, faceplate up as he nodded at the bundle. “I’ll stick it in a secure room at the Tower, see what happens. We’ve been through this with Wolverine.”

No way was he letting Wade wake up from death surrounded by a bunch of heroes that saw him as human garbage, and wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so. Wade would probably prefer to be back at his place, but Peter still couldn’t help fearing that he might need some medical intervention. “I’ll sit with him.”

Stark looked at him as if he were nuts. “O-kaaay. Don’t you have, like, class and work and better things to do?”

Shit. He’d definitely be missing class then, and not for the first time, but he’d have to go for work in the evening or risk consequences. “This is more important.”

“Fine. But you know we’re gonna have to have another talk about all this,” Stark’s voice veered towards condescending. “And about whatever you think you’re doing with Deadpool. I don’t know why anyone would want to, but associating with him is a PR nightmare. He actually makes superheroes everywhere look bad.” 

“I’m sure he lives the way he does just to make you look bad,” Spiderman snapped back sarcastically. He’d heard this shit before, and did they really have to do this with Wade’s bloody pieces slung over his shoulder?

“He lives the way he does because he is violent and unstable, and completely fucked in the head,” Stark replied harshly. “If he didn’t have some occasional use, he’d be locked away in the Negative Zone.”

Spidey was done with this conversation, and hauled his load to the Quinjet without another word or backwards glance. He did not look forward to the inevitable intervention masquerading as “talking about it”. In the jet, Bruce glanced up from the screen as Peter came in and placed his load on gurney (did something inside it just move?). “Have you seen what’s on here?”

Spidey looked at Bruce, who appeared even more haggard and stressed than usual, then he turned back to the gurney. “Not much of the actual data. Saw some of the subjects first hand.” 

“It looks like AIM was working with Oscorp to pursue an immortality serum. Or rather, they had one that sort of worked, and were in the testing phase. I saw some of the torture sessions they recorded. . . The research kept those people alive well past the point where normal humans would’ve died.”

Peter carefully unwrapped the blanket, spreading it open and then gently moving the bones and charred pieces of flesh. It was objectively disgusting, but Peter was beyond registering that, too caught up in a desperate belief in what amounted to magic. He tried to identify pieces and place them accordingly, registering with a timid hope that some parts had apparently already merged back together. 

“So what?” Spidey challenged after a minute, anger churning the heavy mixture of fear and hope. “They’re better off dead? I shouldn’t be disappointed in myself for failing to save them? I shouldn’t be pissed at Wade for maybe blowing everything up on purpose?”

It was Bruce’s turn to be silent for a long moment, before confessing grimly, “It’s not a call I could’ve made. . . but if it’d been me in there, I’d hope that someone could. The sooner the better.”

Was it just him or did it look like something was growing under the ribs? When Peter looked back at Bruce, the man had returned to the computer screen. 

! ^_^ !

Stark put Deadpool up in a fancy recovery room, if well monitored and heavily secured; but it had clean white sheets, a large TV, comfy chairs for guests, even flowers and artwork. It was clear to everyone that Deadpool was indeed regenerating. His pinkish mass had grown significantly, both through spontaneous cell reproduction and by incorporating the available pieces, burnt leather and all. When each and every Avenger had taken a moment to gawk in morbid fascination, they finally left Spiderman in the room with him. 

Spidey took a long time just to hold his head, elbows resting on his knees as he sat in one of the comfy chairs. Finally the emotional cacophony faded into fatigue and Spidey sat up to look at the lumpy, human shaped mass. A skin of sorts had developed around the flesh, bubbly but looking flush and soft, and Spidey was tempted to touch, to caress. It hurt to think that less than forty eight hours ago, he’d been dick deep inside that decimated flesh. “I’m glad you’re not dead, but I’m still mad at you.”

He pulled the chair close enough that he could lay his tired head on the mattress. When he woke hours later, it was to the occasional twitch or jerk from Wade’s naked body. Alarm forced Peter to his feet and he took several seconds to fully register the new developments. Wade appeared to be mostly back to his previous form, all bulging muscles and long limbs. . . and a hefty dick draped softly between his legs. Only after lingering on that still novel sight for a moment did Peter really take in his skin. The web of scarring and motley disfigurement criss-crossed Wade’s flesh like a collage, and Peter felt guilty for finally seeing them this way. He had wanted Wade to show him, and had wanted Wade to want that; even now he wanted to touch, but not like this. Half the fun of the sleeping fantasy was, after all, knowing that Wade was actually awake and aware of Peter molesting him.

Then the mercenary twitched again and Peter guessed that he was getting close to waking up. He covered Wade with a blanket, then sat again, grasping a warm hand and leaning against the mattress. “Hey, Pool. You’ll never believe where we are.”

Wade’s face twitched towards him, eyes still closed. Peter thought he might’ve had an attractive face once, before the cancer had ravaged his skin. “Can you hear me? It’s Spidey.”

Fingers clenched weakly in Peter’s hand, so he continued, “You wanna know where we are? You’ll never believe it.”

Wade didn’t move this time, but his whole body seemed tilted in Peter’s direction, so he revealed, “We’re at the Playboy Mansion. It’s pretty sweet.”

Deadpool actually started awake at that, jerking his hand back and kicking out weakly. “Whuh?”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Peter assured, leaning back and hands up in supplication. “Stark is letting us stay in one of his recovery rooms. We’re in Stark Tower.”

“Spidey?” Pool croaked in complete confusion, looking down at a sheet that barely hid anything. 

Spidey wished he didn’t have to wear his mask, but he still wanted to keep his real identity an unspoken secret between him, Stark, and JARVIS. He wasn’t sure how much the others knew about him, and one might never know that with the likes of Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov. The best Peter could do now was to keep his chin high enough to be clearly not looking, and hand Deadpool the clothes Stark had provided. “I didn’t put them on you earlier because I was afraid it would interfere with the healing.”

Deadpool grabbed the generic black ski mask that was on top of the pile and yanked it on. Spidey averted his gaze entirely as the tall man struggled to pull on the matching sweatshirt and pants combo. His movements were weaker, less graceful than usual and he sounded agitated and hoarse as he demanded, “What happened?”

“The facility blew up, jerk. Killing all those people and leaving me to literally pick up your bloody pieces.” 

Deadpool didn’t say anything, just grabbed his head and sat back on the gurney with a groan. 

It didn’t matter that he was angry, Peter was also very worried, “What’s wrong?”

“Nnngh! Nothing, just a little brain damage and repair,” Pool panted slowly and with difficulty, rubbing roughly at his face and skull. “I, uh, guess I remember that. . . I was in a room, watching the footage of what Kilbrew had done to me, I think. . . reel after god awful reel of every horrible memory. . . Or maybe it wasn’t me, I don’t know, it’s confusing. . . We know the end coming, and for a couple seconds there is this rush of joy, like a goddamn chorus of angels singing hallelujah. . . And then the curtain drops and it’s finally, finally – lights out.” 

Deadpool’s words erased any doubt in Spidey’s mind as to what had happened, but also made it hard to use his anger to attack. Clearly Wade himself yearned for the Final Death, saw it as something beautiful and blessed. He truly believed that he had done right by those poor people in the Oscorp lab, and to try to convince him otherwise would be to convince him he was a mass murderer. As righteous as Peter felt about his position, he couldn’t do that kind of damage to Wade. If Peter couldn’t live with what the other man had done, then Peter needed to leave. But he couldn’t even take that idea seriously. Just like that, his anger faded enough to stomach.

Spidey stilled the ungentle hands with his own, then took over the job, stroking where Pool had been pulling and pressing. As unflattering as the ski mask was, it did have an opening for Pool’s lips and for his deep hazel eyes, giving Spidey a good view of the lost soul inside, especially this close. It was difficult to believe that he’d never seen those vibrant eyes before. Somehow it felt like he’d always seen, like he’d been able to read through the mask’s eyes most of what he now saw in the real ones. 

“Those were the lab subjects, not you,” Spidey assured, then choked a little around the pain of his next words, “Not even two days ago. . . you promised me you wouldn’t kill yourself anymore.”

Wade must’ve picked up on his distress, because he tugged Spidey down to his chest. Peter wrapped arms around his waist and hugged him tight, breathing through the urge to cry, and it was the mercenary’s turn to gently stroke the back of his head. “I know, baby boy. But this wasn’t like that, it wasn’t about my suffering.”

After a minute of emotionally laden silence, Wade ventured quietly, “Do you know how I got the name Deadpool?”

Peter’s eyes were shut tightly against the high tide of inner pain, but he shook and hung on to every painful word. “After the healing serum seemed to fail, Weapon X left me in the care Dr. Kilbrew, who basically specialized in the kind of experiments you just saw. The orderlies had a dead pool going on who would die first. Needless to say, I outlived everyone else in the pool, and those sad fuckers loved me for it. They all prayed to die, begged for it even, but rejoiced that I always lived on to give the finger to Kilbrew by not fucking dying!”

Peter absorbed the hurt and listened to Deadpool’s short breaths before he finished quietly, “I knew you wouldn’t approve, but I needed to see those things through to the other side. . . And, no, we will not be featuring the Doors classic, Break on Through to the Other Side. Tune in another day for a full rendition.”

Peter pressed his face harder into Wade’s unyielding chest, smothering a broken chuckle and muffling his teary words. “I know. And maybe I can even understand in retrospect. . . But I panicked when the building exploded, I almost ran back in. I haven’t felt that terror since. . . Gwen. Then, then I had to pick up your pieces. And there wasn’t much left to pick up!”

Peter sniffled loudly in the heavy silence. All Wade could offer was a hand tailing down Spidey’s back and a quiet, “I’m sorry for that.” 

Slowly the tightness around his eyes and throat and chest eased, and Peter eventually sat up with a minimum of tears and snot on Wade’s shirt. The other man caught him off guard by slipping a bare hand around his neck, and using his other hand to gently slip under his mask and slide the material up past his lower lip. Peter’s gasp of alarm was quickly covered by Wade’s warm mouth, tongue slotting into his own parted lips and transforming the air into a needy whimper. It was the first time Deadpool had initiated a kiss, and the activity stole all the power of the emotional upheaval for its own greedy ends, sending a jolt of arousal straight through Peter’s body. 

Spiderman, Peter, whoever, was all sorts of messed up as he desperately burst into movement, straddling Pool’s thighs and immediately rubbing their burgeoning erections together even as he licked hungrily into Pool’s mouth. He’d felt real terror tonight, terror that he’d failed to save dozens of people; terror that he’d suddenly lost the wonderful, unique man that he’d only just found. He wasn’t ready to lose him, or this, not when he’d yet to discover and plumb every wondrous depth. The thought of what they hadn’t done yet, of what they may have never done if Wade had died for real, made Peter’s dick throb; when Wade’s large hands curved around his ass cheeks, Spidey’s hips bucked involuntarily. He broke their lips to gasp, “I want to feel your dick inside me.” 

“Yeah?” Pool asked breathlessly, fingers flexing to get a better grip on his cheeks, then manhandling the smaller body to press their cocks snuggly together. Blunt fingertips slipped into Spidey’s crack and he pushed back on them as much as the spandex would permit. “You wet for my cock?”

The words made his hole clench tight in anticipation, which elicited an excited burst of precum from his dick. Spidey couldn’t help but moan and rock it up against Pool’s. “God yes. Do it now, we can be quick.” 

“I’d love nothing more right now than shove into your tight virgin hole, just like I’ve wanted to ever since I first laid eyes on you and your shapely ass,” Deadpool purred throatily, gyrating his own hips to the rhythm and mouthing up Spidey’s bare neck. “But when I finally do, let there be no question that I will be taking my sweet, sweet time. So unless you want me to spread you out here on Stark’s bed, and finger your tense little pucker for hours in front of his cameras; unless you want every one of the Avengers to see your hot cherry ass being stretched out and buttered up, and to hear from the pitch of your cries how ready you are to be plucked –” 

Spiderman groaned in frustrated arousal even as he pushed off of Deadpool. “Okay, okay, you win.” 

“Believe me, I’m paying for it in my head,” Wade replied with mild annoyance, adjusting himself through his pants.

“Are you feeling better? I’d love to get out of here, but I think Stark is holding us hostage until we subject ourselves to another verbal thrashing. They’re not happy about what happened, or about us working together.”

“Uhhh, only if we can eat first? Regenerating always takes it out of me and I’m fucking famished. Plus it’ll put an end to Whitey’s whiney little meltdown.”

Eating turned out to be a great idea. Neither Tony Stark nor Steve Rogers could hold their wads, and so accosted them within minutes of entering the communal kitchen. No one must’ve reviewed the most recent video logs, because, thankfully, nothing was said about their inappropriate relationship beyond it being a disadvantageous association. Instead the two superheroes ranted and raved for a good twenty minutes about how irresponsible they had been, about procedures, about how people could’ve been hurt; Spidey was dismayed at how easily and quickly the subjects’ deaths had been recategorized as a necessary evil. Meanwhile Deadpool was completely engrossed in raiding everything in the fridge and stuffing it all through the hole in his ski mask, only ever grunting at whatever the two Avenger leaders had to stay. Spidey ate hungrily too, but mostly he kept his cool because the mercenary was so completely unfazed by the endless barrage of upfront insults and barely veiled insinuations; he felt assured when Pool would occasionally look up from his food and roll his eyes or smile around a full mouth. Frankly, he doubted Deadpool was even listening to their shit most of the time, for which he was grateful. If Pool had taken offense, which he probably should have, Spidey would’ve had to defend him, and the situation would’ve surely deteriorated from there. 

Finally they were released, with a promise from Deadpool to “be good” (punctuated with a graphic hip thrust) and an appointment for Spiderman to come back in two days for a further, individualized reaming. Pool was even given a bag to carry out his charred katanas. 

As they took the elevator down, Spidey turned to his companion; now that he could see Wade’s eyes through the ski mask, he couldn’t stop staring into them like a total school girl. “I know they can be sanctimonious jerks, but they also put their lives on the line regularity to save the world. And they’ve helped me out several times. So. . . thanks for putting up with their shit.”

Deadpool shrugged expressively, this time not even pretending to return Spidey’s gaze through the mask. “They’re heroes, you’re a hero, I get it. Lots of people don’t like me. It’s, um, like an instinctive reaction to my appearance and . . . other things. I try not to take it personally. But you should be more careful about being seen with me. Cap and the Iron Douche are right, if people find out Spiderman is palling around with Deadpool, the fallout for you is gonna be bad. If they find out we’ve done the nasty. . . well, they’re gonna think the worst.”

“I’m not ashamed to be spending time with you,” Spidey replied indignantly, offended at the suggestion for multiple reasons. “I might not want everyone to know the gory details of my sex life, but I will never, ever do anything with you that we have to hide or lie about. If I’m spending my time with you, then I’m man enough to stand by my choices.”

Deadpool did meet his gaze then, with a skeptical look in his eyes that Spidey wanted to pursue further; except then the elevator doors opened, and Pool pushed off the wall to lead the way out. Spiderman checked the time on his wrist guard. “Shoot. I’ve gotta change and get to this work thing. Then there’s all this schoolwork to catch up on. . . Ugh, I feel like I’m drowning in things that need to get done. When are you free?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Unless I line up a job, I’ve got nothing to do but watch Golden Girls as I eat burritos and jerk off to thoughts of you. I’m literally at your beckon call.”

Spidey could see the stretched lips through the ski mask’s crude mouth hole, and found himself extremely turned on by the added, but still limited visibility. He wondered how his dick would look between those lips, framed with the black border like great pleasure hole in space. Except that he liked who that pleasure hole was attached to, and he remembered how Deadpool had sucked his brains out through his dick not too long ago. “Ok. Then I’m calling you to my place, tomorrow, at nine o’clock sharp.”

“Roger that, sir! 2100 hours.” Deadpool’s lips stretched further into a wide grin, and Peter was utterly hypnotized. The few times that he had seen Wade’s mouth, he’d never seen such a radiant smile. Is this how he grinned when he thought people weren’t looking?

After his display in the recovery room, Spidey knew there was no point in pretending for the cameras. He leaned up to press his covered lips to Wade’s vulnerable mouth hole, then he embraced the solid body and squeezed tight. “I can deal with any fall out better than I’d deal with leaving your burnt pieces at the bottom of a demolition site. Or letting you to wake up naked and alone with those jerks giving you the third degree.”

It took him a moment to coordinate the unfamiliar movements, but Wade managed to return the embrace. 

! ^_^ !

That evening Peter attended a press conference of behalf of the Bugle, which was thankfully brief, and left him enough time to squeeze in some late night homework. The next day, Wednesday, he busted his butt to attend his classes and get caught up on his school work, then he stopped off at the Bugle office to review his recent and upcoming assignments with Jameson. At eight that night, Peter finally figured he’d earned the rest of the night off guilt-free, so he closed his biochem book and went to take a shower. 

After he soaped his armpits and crotch, he slipped a sudsy finger into the vice-like clench of his ass and marveled at how hot for it he was. The idea of Deadpool’s blunt fingers in that tight channel made his whole groin area squeeze together and throb with want; the thought of that giant dick parting him made him flex open greedily and push back on his own curious finger. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he made himself give up before he could explore any further. He didn’t need to take care of himself now, he was pretty sure Pool would be up for a couple of rounds shortly. 

Peter wasn’t feeling particularly subtle as he threw on some pajama pants and a threadbare Passenger t-shirt. It felt like he’d buzzed through the last thirty some hours, working hard just to keep up with the daily grind. He’d tried not to think about anything except school or work, because his wondering thoughts only ever strayed in one distracting direction; and he’d tried not to feel because his feelings all screamed to run away and pursue wild passions. Now though, Peter was horny as hell and he let his thoughts linger on how Deadpool had said he was going to take his sweet, sweet time.

The rap on Peter’s window came at nine o’clock sharp. His stomach fluttered as he opened it to let a large, masked man climb in. He was dressed in worn jeans and a red hoodie, katanas strapped to his back and the familiar soft mask over his face. Peter found comfort in the look, even as he missed how accessible Wade had been in the ski mask, both emotionally and physically. “Hey.”

“Hey you,” Deadpool drawled, taking a good look at Peter’s formal lack of attire. “I take it we’re not going out for dinner.”

“Did you want to?” Peter deadpanned, hovering provocatively close to the other man. 

“No.” Pool reached for the straps over his chest and easily unbuckled the newly buffed and sheathed katanas on his back. He let them fall to the ground. “We’re good here. I mean, um, I’m good here.”

“Good, cuz I want all four of us to be comfortable.” Peter grinned at him, grabbing a gloved hand and drawing him towards the single bed. 

Pool sat on the mattress, where he shed his combat boots and the fearsome knife in each; but then he held Peter at arm’s length when he moved to climb into his lap and pick up where they’d left off at the Tower. Wade tilted his head slightly and asked hesitantly, “Just to clarify. What are the, uh, terms of exchange here?”

As much as he disliked the contractual framework, Peter realized that this conversation was actually for his own benefit. At this point, if the older man just pushed forward and seduced him, Peter would probably accept whatever happened; but by bringing consent to the forefront, Pool was intentionally handicapping himself. Peter understood then that this exchange was a negotiation, not a power play, and the thought just made him hotter. He liked being in a position to negotiate. 

“You still want to fuck me?” Peter teased, licking his lips and squeezing the hand in his.

“You know I do,” Pool growled, squeezing back. “I’ve already cum twice today just thinking about it.”

“I bet that was a something to see. You punishing that big cock of yours.” Peter reached out and ran light fingers down the already half hard appendage trapped in Pool’s jeans. He had yet to see it properly, erect and in good light, and he did so want to.

“I’d much rather it be you doing the punishing. That thing’s incorrigible and doesn’t listen to us.”

That was certainly a thought Peter would have to revisit later, but right now they still had to negotiate the current scene. And there was something he definitely wanted. “In exchange for my backdoor virginity, I need something from you.”

“Anything for the holy grail,” Pool joked, but Peter was getting familiar enough now to read the uneasiness in his voice. 

“No clothes. No masks, bodysuits or gloves, nothing. I want to see that cock before it fucks me, and I want to see you when we’re doing it. I want to see us.”

Pool dropped Peter’s hand and rubbed his thin gloves nervously along his thighs. “Lights off or on?”

“It’s all the same to me,” Spidey smirked gently, trying to put the other man at ease. 

“Yeah, thought so, Mister Night Vision McStaringEyes,” Pool snarked. “I guess lights on then. I wanna see too. It’s just, uh, I mean. . . ”

He trailed off long enough that Peter asked quietly, “What?”

“Can we make it about you and your first time?” Wade suggested, cringing just a little. “That’s much hotter than the whole phantom of the opera, unmask the hideous monster scenario.”

Peter realized then that Wade was a sexual genius; he was literally scripting the great sex they were about to have. The thought was exciting, as were both of the proposed scenes, and Peter couldn’t help but tease, “I dunno, you know how hot it makes me when you talk about how hideous you are. You sure you don’t want to see how hard I cum after being ravished by a real life monster?”

Wade scratched his cheek, head tilted as he listened to the boxes. “Whitey likes that one, but he’s into all sorts of degrading things. Yellow thinks it’d be bad for our mental health at this point in time, which is a definite possibility.”

That made Peter feel guilty for teasing, so he retrieved Wade’s gloved hands and his voice dipped as he grew serious. “I don’t know about degrading, they both sound pretty sexy to me. But we can go with taking my virginity tonight, if you’re up for the job.”

Wade drew Peter closer, so that he stood in between Wade’s parted thighs. Then he pulled Peter’s shirt up and they worked together to remove it entirely. “We don’t call him Ol’ Reliable for nuthin'.” 

Wade shed his gloves without fanfare and traced his fingers down Peter’s bare chest to his hips, then they slipped into the loose pajama pants to splay tantalizingly on the swell of Peter’s buttocks. Peter’s own hands perched on Wade’s broad shoulder, massaging weakly, as Wade continued, “I’m much more worried about your delicate backdoor, it’s probably never been opened or slammed in its entire life.” 

“I slipped a finger in during my shower, so I’m not completely untouched,” Peter tried to tease, but he was revving up so fast he wasn’t even sure who he was teasing. He had a flash of how this was going to play out, and knew Wade was right: this was going to be scorching hot.

“Oh yeah? A whole finger?” Wade chuckled. He leaned closer to rub his mask along the smooth pecs, reaching farther back to trace a blunt digit along Peter’s crack. “You’ve seen what I’m packing, my cock doesn’t have much use for tight little puckers. You sure you can follow through on the work out you’ve agreed to?” 

Peter surged forward and used his knees to climb roughly into Wade’s lap, eager hands moving straight to the covered head, bunching the material with his fingers; but then Wade’s hands weren’t on his ass anymore, they were restraining Peter’s wrists, and the strong body below him was tense and coiled. Peter stilled, waiting for Wade, not doubting that the older man was capable of holding up his end of the bargain. 

“Just, slow, yeah? No sudden movements. . .” A little frown blossomed on his face, and his voice got small and scared, “I know I’m fucking it up. Just stop yelling at me. You’re gonna make it worse.”

Peter got it. Wade was going against his instincts, was letting Peter take him beyond his comfort zone, and was managing the stress as best he could. It was even a bit of a turn on to realize that Wade was nervous, since he frequently acted so carefree and confident when it came to sex; but of course he was nervous, he was about to expose a part of himself that he could barely stand to look at himself. After a couple seconds Wade relaxed his hold on Peter’s wrists and Peter let his hands fall gently to the thick base of his neck. 

“Nothing’s gonna get worse, so no one in there needs to yell, or be mean,” he assured, tracing his finger suggestively along the neckline. “How bout we just kiss to start?”

Wade seemed to make an intentional effort to uncoil and relax his body, then his warm hands landed possessively to Peter’s bare hips. Finally, he tilted his head up in silent, deliberate invitation. Peter slid his fingers under the material, easing it up the scarred neck, rolling it gently over the strong chin and wide lips to rest over his nose. Then they found each other easily, trading hot wet kisses as tongues tangled and twirled. Wade tasted like toothpaste and chocolate and Peter chased the flavor until his lips felt tingly and chapped. Eventually, one of his hands inched up and fisted the back of the hood. Wade’s body fluttered in a half second of tension, but Peter licked and pressed and rubbed, and he felt like a damn horse whisperer when those powerful muscles relaxed again. With a purposeful, well telegraphed movement, he slid the hood off; a second later he broke their liplock and, eyes still closed, he caressed their cheeks together. 

Wade moaned in surprise, but it was a happy sound, so Peter kept going. He brushed their noses together, and then pressed their brows together, then their temples, while Wade rubbed his face into the skin-on-skin contact. Finally, Peter tilted down to capture a roughhewn ear between his teeth. 

“Mmm. . . Spidey, you fucking sex Chihuahua!” Wade groaned appreciatively.

Peter opened his eyes, taking in the scarred skin of Wade’s neck and skull even as he mouthed against his ear, “Don’t start with that again, Whitey. That’s not the image I want when I remember fucking you like a dog. How you spread your legs and took it like a bitch in heat.” 

They both pushed into each other at that memory, erections grinding together; only for Wade to wince and draw back with a pathetic whimper. “Ow, fuck. The zipper really bites!”

Peter’s right hand quickly made its way south. “Lemme help.”

He had to scoot back a couple inches to give him room to see and maneuver, then both hands were on Wade’s fly before Peter had even realized what had just happened. His fingers froze, but he did not withdraw them. Instead he broke the scene and looked up at Wade, into the soulful eyes that were so frequently hidden. 

“I caught what you just did there,” Peter snarked, but not unkindly. He lowered his voice and tried to imitate Deadpool’s manic cadence, “Here, don’t look at me, look at my monster dick instead.”

“It’s better than my monstrous face,” Wade deadpanned, managing to hold Peter’s gaze. 

“It’s really not,” Peter assured, already leaning in smear their raw lips together. He felt the surge of Wade’s body and he knew he’d handled him just right. Not a minute later, Wade was guiding his hand back to the tightly trapped flesh in his jeans, and they broke apart to watch Peter ease the zipper down the swollen member. He’d suspected, but it was intoxicating to confirm that Wade was going commando, in part because of the shear intentionality of the act. He’d come over here without the body suit, without even underwear, talking about negotiation but willing, maybe even wanting, to give it all away. 

Peter eagerly peeled the jeans open, releasing the engorged cock and exposing it to both their intent gazes. Peter didn’t wait to wrap both palms around it, studying it even as he stroked and squeezed and made Wade shudder. The heated cock was as scarred and pocked as the rest of Wade’s body, and just as strong and capable. At about nine inches, thick but not obscene, it was really more perfect than monstrous, even if it was kinda fun to pretend otherwise. “I dunno, Wade. Maybe this is a little too much man for me. Maybe I should find someone with a smaller dick to fuck me first.”

Wade growled, fucking up into Peter’s grip, punctuating his works with thrusts, “Fuck, no.” Thrust. “Not unless I get to be there,” thrust, “to watch.” Thrust. “Which is totally a fantasy I’ve had.” Thrust. “Though at the end of that fantasy,” thrust, “I’m fucking your face hole,” thrust, “while Wolverine can barely find his tiny dick to stick it in your ass,” thrust, “giving an all new meaning to dee pee.” Thrust, followed by the breathless question, “Get it?”

Peter chuckled, amused and still turned on by Wade’s dirty chattering. “Yes, Wade, I get it. DP, Deadpool, double penetration.”

Deadpool bucked up hard, precum leaking out of his tip. “Oh, fuck! Spiderman just said double penetration. That reminds me of this other fantasy, where’s there’s four different versions of me, which, uh, actually happened this one time. Anyway, we all fight over you, and then agree to share you all at once.” 

Peter laughed at that. “Can we focus on a single penetration tonight?”

“Absofuckinglutely.” Wade hooked his arms around Peter’s knees and then used his strength to flip them completely over. Now Peter was on his back, legs bent with Wade lying low in between them. Wade wasted no time running a possessive touch over the thin sleeping pants, from the knee to tented crotch, into the crevice of Peter’s ass. “This is mine tonight, I’m gonna turn you out. “ 

Then Deadpool climbed right on top of Peter like some kind of night prowler, pinning him to the mattress and rutting between Peter’s splayed legs, rubbing his exposed cock against the soft cotton covering his own dick. It felt amazing, and the porn script fell easily from Peter’s lips, “Mmm, Pool! You feel huge, are you sure your cock can fit?” 

“I don’t care, I’m gonna make it fit. You’re gonna get it tonight, baby boy.”

Pool rocked hard into him, which Peter thoroughly enjoyed, but then he kneed the larger man away. “Take your pants off.”  
Wade only hesitated long enough to see that Peter was stripping off his own pants, and then he too dropped trou. He tried to join a naked Peter on the bed in just a hoodie, but Peter just reclined provocatively, crossing his arms across his bare chest, and demanded, “Shirt too.”

Wade went still and silent for a moment before erupting with quick, jerky movements to remove the sweatshirt and toss it away. Then he stood eerily still again, eyes watching Peter’s reaction; but Peter had seen it before, and frankly hadn’t cared that much the first time. He parted his legs a little wider in invitation, while raising an eyebrow in challenge. 

“What luck, he really does have an ugly fetish,” Wade muttered soto voce, followed a second later by a hollered, “Cannonball!”

Then he actually dove onto the bed, somehow managing to land on top of Peter with a minimum of pain and a maximum of contact. The impact knocked the wind out of the lighter man, but then Wade was breathing for him, lips merging over his as large hands held him close. Those blunt fingers wandered his body, stroking his abs, roughly pinching his nipples, and scratching down his back. Finally, he pushed Peter back into the mattress and shifted to the side so that he could envelope Peter’s dick in a controlling grip. 

“There’s that beautiful prick,” Wade murmured, tugging on it with tight, long strokes that twisted at the end. After a minute of that, Peter was arching up to meet his strokes and he asked, “Got lube?”

“Nightstand.”

Wade rolled off him for a moment, but then was back, manhandling Peter’s knees up and back. Peter’s instinct was to go with it, but he couldn’t help the flush of embarrassment as Wade ordered, “Hold yourself open for me.”

“Uhhh, I’m not really feeling. . .“ This was not how Peter had imagined it and he struggled to comply.

“Nunh-unh,” Wade scolded, pushing the second leg up and into Peter’s hand. “You don’t get to be embarrassed, Spidey McStaringEyes. I let you see everything.” 

That was sorta true, since by everything Wade meant his slicked asshole. So Peter let the sensitizing flush spread over his body as he held his legs up and open, closing his eyes in arousal and mortification as he listened to the sounds of Wade squirting out some lube. His dick was as hard as a rock though, and throbbed when a large hand squeezed one cheek, further exposing him. Then there was a cold brush of lube against his hole and his whole body clenched. “God, yes! Touch me!”

“Yeah? Like this?” A slick, blunt finger tip circled around his tense hole, and then abruptly rubbed at the opening itself, with just enough pressure to dip in.

“Ah!” Peter cried out, clamping down reflexively on the intrusion, gut objecting even as his dick swelled further. He was so turned on that it was difficult to relax his body.

“Chill, Petey.” The finger twisted in until the entire digit was enveloped; it gently felt around and then eased out, only to twist in again. “We’re just getting started.”

All in all, Wade probably fingered Peter for twenty minutes, using ridiculous amounts of lube and every feat of manual dexterity possible. The first thick digit had just tantalized, but the addition of the second stretched him just enough to feel amazing, especially when Wade started suckling his cock in the same gentle rhythm. Wade patiently worked his fingers in again and again until Peter’s body stopped clenching around them and started spreading and pushing back. When that hot mouth pulled off Peter’s needy prick, he whimpered at the loss, but then those two long fingers curled knowingly against his prostate, and his eyes flew open as he cried out. Embarrassment threatened to come back as he realized then that Wade was watching his facial reactions as closely as he watched the grasp and give of his slippery orifice; but he didn’t have much time to think about it, for then Wade began a thorough massage of his prostate that left him writhing and gasping. The heady endorphins helped ease him through the discomfort when a third finger breached him, stretching the rim of his ass wide open with a moan of both arousal and pain. 

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so good, baby boy,” Wade murmured. At this point he was kneeling before Peter, thighs pressed up to the top of Peter’s ass, helping to keep his hips rolled up and ankles high in the air. Peter had long given up holding himself open, but his legs had gone rubbery and Wade propped them apart easily with the bulk of his body. Even as Wade worked him open with slick digits, he worked Peter’s dick with the other hand, lube everywhere as Peter’s hips rocked helplessly back and forth to the rhythm of his purposeful administrations. “You look spectacular like this. Like you were born to take my cock. I can’t wait to be balls deep inside you.” 

Peter moaned in amusement, even as waves of arousal radiated from the sharp ache of his stuffed channel. “You’re such a romantic.”

Wade stripped his cock again with a long tug, fingers shifting and corkscrewing into his hole and Peter cried out again, “Ah!” His rim was stretched so taunt that every movement pulled on it and hurt, but his dick was so close to erupting and the pain in his ass inflamed his entire pelvic region deliciously. A minute later, Wade gently pulled his fingers out, wiping the lube on his own impatient dick before he shifted over and reclined back on the bed. “Ride me, Spidey.”

It took a second for the command to register and for Peter’s fuzzy brain to piece together the mechanics. “Hell yes.”

It took a second longer to convince his wobbly legs to cooperate, but then Peter was climbing over Wade, straddling his hips and soaking in the powerful body, laid out before him like a sacrifice. Did Wade realize how much he was giving Peter? Not just control over the situation, but full access too. After a moment of meaningful eye contact, Peter made a brief but obvious display of eying him up. His hands followed his attention, scratching up those well defined abs until he could fondle those swollen pecs and pinch the tight little nipples. Wade groaned in appreciation, but then his larger hands were on Peter’s hips, strong and guiding, but also restraining him and partially holding him up. Together they lowered Peter onto the hot protrusion, until the pressure finally pushed open the wet muscle that protected his slick channel, letting the thick cock slide in. 

“Wade!” Peter gasped, hole tensing reflexively and clenching around the thing inside him. It couldn’t be more than a few inches in and already it felt like too much; Wade’s broad fingers had stretched him wide enough, but nowhere near deep enough. 

“That’s it, baby boy, breathe through it,” Wade soothed. When he was sure Peter’s trembling legs would hold him up, Wade brought one slick hand to the flagging erection and massaged it back to full hardness. Peter gradually relaxed, thrusting into the tight fist, then slowly sinking further down on Wade’s large cock. Every additional inch felt like he was being impaled and split in two, and yet his loins ached for it all.

“Fuck,” Peter cursed between clenched teeth, eyes closing tightly. “It really hurts!”

Wade’s free hand stilled Peter’s hips, even as he kept tugging at Peter’s cock. “I bet it does. Like I shoved a Louisville slugger right into your sweet virgin hole.” 

That’s exactly what it felt like and Peter moaned and squirmed in both pain and arousal. The hand on Peter’s hip slid down to his ass, holding him up and open so that he couldn’t agitate around the massive thing lodged inside him. “Does it feel like I barely stretched you at all? Like I just forced my cock into you and took my pleasure?”

The words excited Peter, despite their inaccuracy, and he responded with a mock slap to the chest, “Yes, you big brute! Your dick’s a fucking battering ram, it doesn’t fit!”

“Oh yeah?” Wade returned Peter’s hungry gaze, held it steady and intense as the hand on Peter’s ass slipped further in. Wade seemed to be studying his face as his blunt fingers circled and gently massaging lube around the aching, distended rim. “What’d I say about making it fit?” 

Peter groaned as the muscle gave further and Wade’s cock inched deeper. “Do you want me to stop?” Wade asked, a little mocking, the hand on Peter’s cock slowing. “All you need to do is say the word and I’ll stop. It’s not too late to admit defeat, if your delicate little flower can’t take any more.” 

“Don’t you dare stop!” Wade’s hips rocked up ever so slightly, and Peter’s legs shuffled impossibly farther apart, and somehow that big dick pushed in even farther; Peter’s hips stuttered helplessly into the big fist, which tightened again in accommodation. He felt so full, so possessed, and so very close to cumming, he couldn’t do anything but keen mindlessly.

“Of course, it’s too late for your virginity, Petey, even if we stop now. Whatever it may feel like, I took excellent care of your sweet little pucker tonight.” With tiny little movements, their hips began rocking in sync, trying to force their bodies closer. “A small prick will never be enough now, I’ve spoiled you for anyone else. Even if I pull out now, I’ll still be leaving a gaping, ruined hole, desperate to be stuffed full of cock.”

“Nnng-uh!” Peter’s rim finally gave way completely, seating him fully on the huge prick. “Oh, fuck!” It hurt like a bitch, and yet Wade was stripping his dick so quickly and thoroughly that the pain and pleasure completely fused around his pelvis and made his head spin. How had he got here, straddling a dangerous mercenary and impaled on his giant dick?! “Stop, stop, Wade! I’m cumming!”

Peter’s entire body seized as it was overwhelmed by climax, his legs and ass spasming and struggling to push out the intrusion. Wade held him securely by the hips, trapping him on the unyielding dick as his stretched hole clutched uselessly around it, and his limbs shook, and his own cock pulsed and painted white stripes up Wade’s chest and chin. After long seconds, Peter’s entire body slumped, legs no longer holding any weight and his hands reaching out to Wade’s chest to keep himself propped himself up. He wanted to collapse forward into Wade’s sweaty body, but he was still impaled by the massive cock. The orifice ached profoundly, but the muscle now felt lax and loose, and it fluttered weakly at the thought that Wade had not come. Wade’s fingers scratched soothingly up and down his exhausted thighs. “You’re alright, baby boy. You’re perfect.”

“Holy hell,” Peter uttered, completely knackered. “I’m gonna need a breather before we keep going.”

Wade chuckled, briefly rotating his hips into Peter’s open entrance before helping his shaky legs dismount. “Mmm-hmm. . . Just relax and let Deadpool take care of you.”

Peter collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, body relaxing in relief even as he noticed an unwelcome sensation of emptiness radiating from his empty hole. His eyelids tried to close, but then the mattress shifted and he suddenly quite wanted to see what Wade was doing. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg bent and the other braced on the floor, dick standing tall and full in between; his fingers were stroking through the cum on his abdomen. 

Their eyes met and Wade smirked at him. “Should I lick your spunk off my fingers?”

It was a sexy thought, but Peter had a better one, “If you’re taking suggestions from the peanut gallery, I think you should smear it across your tits.”

A hint of a frown twitched across Wade’s face, but then it was gone, and Wade dragged the messy fingers up the scarred skin of his pectoral cleavage and rubbed the semen into nipples that clearly enjoyed the attention. When he was done, he reclined next to Peter to nuzzle his neck and nip at his ear. “Now I smell like you.”

“Hmmm-hm,” Peter agreed contentedly. The large, warm body beside him felt wonderful, and he let his eyes slip closed. 

“You can doze, if you want,” Wade murmured, not sounding sleepy at all. “But I should warn you that I plan on touching all your naughty places.”

Remembering their last sleeping fantasy, Peter’s dick twitched involuntarily and he let Wade roll him over onto his side, and then bend his outer knee forward. Peter barely had the energy to feel self conscious at the exposure, listening to the sound of Wade preparing more lube and somehow still managing to feel aroused. “I’m all fucked out. I couldn’t stop you if I tried.”

Then a strong hand was parting his cheeks and a slick fingertip circled his exhausted entrance. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It wasn’t you who let yourself be fucked by the ugly creep with a monster cock; and it certainly wasn’t your fault that he turned you into an insatiable cockslut with a greedy, desperate hole.” 

Wade emphasized his words by pushing two fingers in through the distended rim; they went in easily and yet Peter moaned loudly. It felt amazing, and his dick even picked up a little, but everything inside ached. Despite the post-orgasm haze, he did want to fuck again, but he was also trepidacious about being able to accommodate Pool’s large member so soon. “Just go easy on me, Pool. I’m sore.”

Wade had been nothing but patient and considerate thus far, but still the fingers slowed and went shallower, tips dipping in and out of his hole like little waves. His voice was low near Peter’s ear, but his words were gently mocking, “Poor little pucker, all sore and tender from the ill treatment. Battered and abused by some thuggish prick, and still your wrecked hole wants more, I can tell.”

The dirty dialogue titillated, while the light touch felt delightful, especially the way Peter’s rim lazily tried to catch and hold the teasing digits. And yet, it was so clearly not enough that Peter felt like a complete hypocrite; like Goldilocks, not too much sodomy, please, but not too little either. So instead of saying anything, Peter just pulled his knee closer to his chest, and was rewarded with two thick, long fingers pushing in all the way to the knuckles. It definitely still hurt, but Peter couldn’t help pushing back on the intrusion, and then a prod to his prostate shot fireworks through his body and he moaned wantonly. Wade’s digits bumped his magic spot several more times, and soon his dick was mostly hard again. 

Feeling ready to take things further, Peter rolled up onto his knees and elbows, Wade's fingers still buried deep in his ass. Everything seemed so heavy, his tired body, his head, and especially the swelling dick and tingling balls that hung between his legs. “I’m ready, let’s do this.”

Wade carefully extracted his fingers, then instructed, “Turn around.” 

“Nuh unh. My thighs feel like rubber, no way am I riding you again.” Peter punctuated his words by arching back provocatively and splaying legs further apart. 

Wade chuckled and caressed a bare cheek. “As tempting as you look like that, I’ve got something different in mind.”

Peter turned around reluctantly to lay on his back. He’d gotten into the idea of taking it from behind, but he was also curious about alternative positions. His relatively vanilla porn repertoire consisted strictly of women, so he’d never been exposed to the great variety of positions for anal sex, as he had for vaginal sex. Riding Wade had made sense when the older man had suggested it, but surely everything else was some version of taking it from behind. Right?

Wade wrapped hands around each knee and pushed them up and out, and Peter couldn’t help the flush of embarrassment that again came with this display. “Not this again. Can’t we fuck already?”

“Ooo, I love me a pushy bottom. Patience my little one,” Wade teased, shifting on his knees until his thighs pressed right up to Peter’s ass. Then he deliberately hooked Peter’s legs over his broad shoulders and leaned right over Peter, using his substantial weight to effectively fold Peter in half and pin him to the mattress. Peter felt trapped, and crushed, and sweaty, but Wade’s lips were close enough to kiss and the thick cock lying between his cheeks emphasized exactly how this would work. Peter’s dick bobbed between them, dribbling precum on their stomachs. 

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Peter wheezed, finding it hard to talk between the arousal and the pressure on his chest.

“Good,” Wade murmured, and then joined their lips for some passionate action. The kissing was cut short by the challenges of the position, but then Wade was reaching for the lube again and smearing more on his cock. He grinned covetously at Peter as he lined up to the loosened hole, willingly meeting and holding his gaze. “Now one more time, with feeling.”

Then he pushed all the way in, slow but unyielding, and Peter groaned loudly as the large member forged room for itself in his contorted body. The pain was exquisite, the pleasure addictive, and the unbelievable fullness throbbed and possessed him anew. Wade filled up his senses completely: the massive cock crammed in his hole; the big body that trapped and dominated Peter’s smaller one; the scarred face and the intense eyes that watched his penetration through the reactions on his face. Too soon, Wade was dragging out of his channel, before pushing back in again, just a mite faster; and then again and again, until the aching orifice loosened considerably to let him speed up. Eventually Wade’s body was moving like a great piston, bending Peter’s body in half and hammering away. Little delirious cries were rammed out of him with each powerful, dominating thrust. The position made Wade’s cock feel huge, big and wide and punishing, but it also allowed that same cock to shove up against his prostate with each lunge. 

“Oh fuck! You’ve got an amazing ass, Spidey! I adore you!” Wade exclaimed as his movements grew erratic and uncontrolled, even as the prostate stimulation was becoming almost too much for Peter. It was all Peter could do to fixate on Wade’s fascinating face: usually so full of pain, but now easing and gasping and coming undone. He was suddenly jealous of Wade for being able to watch Peter’s face as he sodomized him; Peter wanted to watch Wade’s face as he squirmed and writhed on his cock.

Peter braced his legs against the robust body as Wade drove in twice more and then slammed home with a loud growl that came straight from some wild carnivore. Wade’s weight sagged for a moment, as though he wanted to curl around Peter’s contorted form, but a lot of things were unsustainable in that position and too soon Wade was pulling out. Peter lowered his legs, for which his thighs and hips were grateful; but now Peter’s hole really was aching, worse than before, and was leaking hot, wet jizz. And he was still quite hard himself.

Peter reached for his own neglected cock, but barely managed to stroke it before Wade pushed his hand away and sucked him down. Wade took him deep, so that Peter’s dick bumped the back of his throat, then again and again. Peter was so close at that point that it didn’t take long, and soon Wade took him all the way in, throat swallowing repeatedly around the head, tightening and clenching until the cock finally pulsed and released something Wade could actually swallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Medical scene. Graphic sex.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in end note.

There was barely room in Peter’s single bed, but they slept by having Wade take up most of the space and Peter on his side, half draped over the larger man. It was warm, and Wade could easily smell the other man’s hair, so he let himself fall asleep, covered by Peter’s blanket. Despite how nice the intimacy felt, Wade should’ve known better. He bolted awake a couple hours later, scared and disoriented and immediately scrambling to his feet in the dark.

[Don’t do it! Don’t don’t don’t don’t! Pleeease stop!]

[[Whitey’s flipping his shit, get the mask!]]

He searched frantically for his mask even as the nightmare began to fade into a harsh reality. Peter rolled over in bed to turn on the lamp there, and must’ve seen Wade’s flinch. “What’s wrong?”

[Whimper whimper whimper.]

Wade didn’t answer for a moment, then he located the mask on the floor and pulled it on. His movements normalized somewhat, but he continued dressing hurriedly. “Nothing important, go back to sleep.”

“Are you leaving already?” Peter asked, clearly disappointed. 

[[Wade! Don’t fuck this up just cuz Whitey is wigging out. Pull yourself together.]] But it was hard to listen to Yellow’s voice of reason when Whitey sounded like a dying animal in the background.

“I dunno.” Wade sat shakily on the bed, turned away from Peter but the proximity was already a concession. He shivered when a palm smoothed down the shirt on his back. 

“Was it a nightmare?” came the gentle voice behind him.

[NO! We’re being skinned alive! Sawed apart! Tortured and tormented and ground into dust! Where are our arms and legs?! We’re a half dead lump of mutilated flesh!!!]

Wade’s head twitched even as he lowered it into cradling hands, elbows propped on his knees as he hunched over. “Yes, my fault. . . We haven’t slept since regenerating, shoulda guessed this would happen. Ol' cheese grater brain needs to process that whole shit show.”

“Is this about the regenerating or what we saw in the lab?” Peter shifted, and then rested his chin on Wade’s shoulder, pressing his naked chest up against Wade’s back. It didn’t feel as comforting as it should and his tension ratcheted up again.

[Don’t let him fuck us like this, DP! Why would he want to fuck a torso with no limbs and half a skull?! Maybe he’s into dismemberment and burning?! He’s gonna rape our holes and rub at our bleeding dick stump, and laugh when we beg to die! He’s gonna rip out an eyeball and fuck our eye socket! ]

[[That’s really sick, even for you. Don’t get your crazy all over Peter.]]

Wade rocked back and forth slightly, distress and desperation escalating. “Come on, Whitey, sing with me, you love this song,” he mumbled to himself. Then he warbled feebly, “♪♬ What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller. . . Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone. . . What doesn’t kill you makes a fighter. . . ♪♬” 

[What doesn’t fucking kill us just leaves us is smaller and smaller pieces! There’s already so little left, how much more can we afford to lose?! ]

He was rocking harder now and Peter had read him well enough to move around to sit beside him. He tried to interrupt Wade’s downward spiral with a loud, “Hey, Deadpool! Don’t check out, man! Talk to me.”

Wade tried to remember what Peter had asked, something about the nightmare; he could barely think or remember anything with all the chaos in his head. “The regenerating can cause strange dreams. But those lab experiments. . . being one of those things was definitely the nightmare.”

Peter reached tentatively for Wade’s knee but then withdrew without touching. “What can I do?” 

[Nothing! Our life is going to be this forever! Cut it off, just to cut if off again! Burn to ashes only to burn again! Impaled, starved, torn apart from the inside, not again! NOT AGAIN!]

“Oh, fuck,” Wade muttered, breath coming a little short as his panic attack escalated. He got to his feet unsteadily, body trembling slightly. “I have to go. . . Like go play in traffic or stick my hand in a fire or something.”

Peter grabbed on to his elbow with two strong hands. “What?! Why? Stay and let me help you.”

Wade’s bare fingers bit into his palms, drawing blood in crescent marks. He was grateful for the mask that hid an expression that was surely every bit as weak and pathetic as his voice, “I’ve gotta. . . clear my head sometimes. I told you that.” 

Peter laced their fingers together, smearing the blood on his palms and squeezing tightly. “What does that mean? You need to hurt yourself to clear your head?”

[Yes! No, enough hurting!!! Yes, damnit, we like pain! Oh, I dunno, it fucking hurts! Just make it stop!]

Wade squeezed back hard, ducking his head in humiliation as he admitted softly, “Whitey won’t stop screaming and yelling. I think. . . the nightmare reminded him of, uh, all these really bad things that’ve happened to us. . . He doesn’t usually remember.” 

“And pain will quiet the boxes? Make him forget again?”

[[Blowing our brains out would be the quickest option. I can’t listen to this banshee for much longer. Man up, Whitey, you pussy! I live with these memories twenty four seven!]]

Wade nodded, looking nervously up at Peter, who appeared to be frowning in contemplation. That was encouraging, even if Whitey had started shrieking hysterically and it was causing a stabbing pain in his temples. But Peter was a lot smarter than him, maybe he could come up with a better solution to the mess that was his psyche. Finally, Peter pulled him back to sit out the bed. “Can I try something? Before you run off and do something drastic?” 

[[Yes. Please. Anything. I hate when we get like this!]] 

“Okay,” Wade croaked after a moment, “Even though I really want to do something drastic.” He resisted the urge to curl up and hide his crazy, as though that was even possible. 

“Take your shirt and hood off,” Peter ordered calmly, almost academically, pulling his sleeping pants on. When Wade hesitated long enough, he continued, “I’ll do it. No blood, no damage, nothing that has to heal. But I’m not gonna hurt you unless I can see your face when I do it. No way do I trust you to know when to stop.” 

[[Listen to Peter.]]

Wade was all torn up as he used trembling hands to pull off his mask, and then his shirt. Normally, the idea of him submitting to Peter like this would have him hard in an instant, but Whitey wouldn’t stop screaming about raping mutilated bags of flesh. He tried hard to still his body as he finally met Peter’s gaze unobscured. Peter reached out and trailed gentle fingers down his cheek, but it only made Wade tremble harder. It felt like all the manic craziness was trying to escape, like it couldn’t possibly be contained within his broken body. 

“It’s okay, Wade. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. But I don’t want you leaving to go bash your brains in.”

Wade nodded shakily, then Peter pinched the skin over his collarbone and squeezed the shit out of it. A sharp stab of agony flared from the spot and Wade gasped quietly at the sensation.

[Ow ow ow! He’s gonna rip our skin right off!]

A second later, strong fingers clamped around a ridge of scar tissue on Wade’s shoulder and pinched hard; then the other hand was twisting a small growth on his bicep and the jolts of pain seemed to ease the binding pressure of Wade’s lungs. He took a deep, steadying breath. 

[[Don’t stop, Peter! You’re doing it!]]

“Again.”

[You’re fucking asking for it! Did you ask for everything else too?! Are you the reason our arms and legs have been hacked off? Our dick severed?! Our skull smashed?! All because you asked for it?!]

Peter pushed him lightly to get him to lie back on the bed, moving to loom stoically over Wade like a masseur about to take on a particularly difficult client. Then he proceeded to litter Wade’s torso with rough tweaks and painful touches. He clamped his digits around larger or smaller rolls of skin, pinching, pulling or twisting violently, using his enhanced strength to give Wade what he needed, in a way that Peter could live with. Red welts rose up in the wake of Peter’s fingers, but they seemed insignificant on the scarred and motley canvas of Wade’s skin. 

[Rats are gnawing on our chest! We’re –]

A jolt of pain shut Whitey up for a moment, and Wade sighed in relief. 

[[Thank you, fucking God that is Spiderman! You really are the best thing in our miserable life.]]

The crazed ranting started up again a few seconds later, stoking the tension, only to be silenced again by a vicious thumbnail digging into his rib. Whitey’s tortured wails echoed through Wade’s skull, but then Peter was violently twisting the softer skin near his armpit. Peter’s ministrations continued for long minutes, systematically shutting the hysterical box down until the only sound it made was a pathetic whimpering, and then finally even that trailed off into nothingness. Wade held himself completely still, slowly relaxing into the blessed silence and the comforting spattering of sharp pain. The pain felt so much better than usual, so much more forgiving, for being delivered by Peter’s kind and patient hands. Wade imagined this was what benediction must feel like. 

Finally, Peter laid his palm on Wade’s shoulder and stroked lightly down to his hip. Wade’s skin ached more than usual, and the gentle touch finally felt soothing and good. The hand disappeared only for two fingers to clamp around a nipple and twist lightly. Wade’s eyes flew open as the bolt of arousal shot through him. 

Peter was smiling softly at him. “I’d love to do something about big boy down there, but I don’t think now is the time.”

Wade glances down his body, unsurprised to see a semi filling out his jeans.

[[At least Ol’ Reliable never has to take a mental health day.]]

“Big Boi is my gun,” he answered uselessly, hazy and slow from whatever spell Spidey had put on him. “Though I guess I lost him in the explosion.”

[[Baaamb! Wrong answer!]]

Peter frowned in confusion, taking his own look at Ol’ Reliable, “Um. I’m not sure how you could’ve missed the last few hours, but your weapon has definitely grown back.”

“Good one, but no. Big Boi was the name of my handgun, the big Desert Eagle. This thing usually goes by Ol’ Reliable, or sometimes Deadpool Junior.”

“Oh, I guess you did introduce me to Big Boi. And I’ve definitely met Junior,” Peter replied with a small smirk, but then his focus was back on Wade’s face and he was apparently trying to stare into his soul again. “You sound better, are you feeling better?”

It hadn’t escaped Wade’s notice that Peter liked to make and maintain eye contact whenever they were both without eye protection, and the intensity of the connection was a little overwhelming. “Yeah. That was incredible, I don’t think I’ve ever come out of a spiral so fast. . .” Looking at each other like that, it felt like he was confessing his undying love, which maybe he was. “You’re something else, Spidey. Like, hands down the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Peter flushed and tilted his face down, but his lips wore a small, pleased smile and he looked up at Wade through dark eyelashes. “And the boxes? Quieter?”

Wade nodded, all this caring and eye contact doing nothing to deflate his chubby. Even if it was super unnerving to talk about his mental health at point blank range. His heart beat sped up slightly. “Whitey hasn’t made a sound in a while. Which I guess is good, all things considered.”

“What about Yellow?” Peter continued. “Still being mean to you?” Wade tried to pick up on any sign that he was being mocked, but Peter could be hard to read. While Deadpool was excellent at superficially reading people, Wade was notably poor at understanding people in any real depth.

[[We’ve never been able to read anyone we let close.]]

“Well that’s terrifyingly accurate,” he muttered nervously to himself, gaze dropping. Then louder, he answered Peter, “He’s okay. He really likes the way you, uh, handled that whole situation.”

“Mmm. I don’t care much for how he handles you.” Peter reached out and trailed his fingers gently over the welts on Wade’s chest. “I don’t like it when anyone calls you names, especially not your own voices.”

Wade shrugged, pretending not to care. “I’m naturally offensive, I get it.”

“You’re really not.” Peter’s fingers brushed over his hard nipples. “You just need some positive reinforcement.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.” 

Peter flashed an affectionate smile, then he bent to the ground to retrieve Wade’s mask and shirt. He held them out to him. “I’d rather you didn’t, but if you need to.”

His wording sounded like a challenge, so Wade took the clothes but didn’t put them on, even though he wanted to. “It’s fine.”  
Peter sat next to him on the bed, and laced their hands together, but at least the eye contact was broken. “Can I say something on that topic? I promise, only because it relates directly to our sex life.”

[[Nice, Peter, taking a page outta my book! Why call names when uncomfortable truths do so much more damage?]]

“Sure. As Whitey would say if he were saying anything right now, hit me baby one more time.”

Peter was silent for a long moment, and Wade began to hope that he would be spared whatever humiliation was about to ensue. “I didn’t know two men could fuck like that, Wade. Front to front, I mean, really seeing each other. I’d’ve liked to fuck you that way too, not the way we did it. As hot as that was.”

[[He’s a goddamn saint, there’s no other explanation. He’s being smooshy. About sex. With us.]]

Wade scratched his cheek nervously, trying to think of an explanation for something that had needed no explanation at the time. Whitey would’ve had some lewd reasoning for sure. “Not everyone’s as flexible as you are, Spidey.”

Peter pulled his disapproval face, a very distinctive if blessedly rare slant to his lips and eyebrows. “I’m sure that’s true. But you are. . . That wasn’t even a good lie, Pool.”

[[I know what we believe, Wade.]]

Wade scowled defensively, withdrawing his hand. “Whaddya want me to say? Maybe I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get it up if you’d had that close of a look.”

But he didn’t even hear Peter’s response, he was looking away from Spidey to where Yellow’s taunting font lay on the comic book page. 

[[We’re afraid that we are still just a hole in the wall, a slit in the suit, a mouth or ass hole in the disfigured body. We think that is all we have to offer a relationship, beyond a shit ton of experience killing and dying. Don’t let Peter look too close, we don’t want him to see that.]]

Wade swallowed, then flinched to awareness, only to find Peter watching him with concern. “This is going to sound even more crazy, which, I know! How is that even possible? But, uh, Yellow is beginning to creep me out. The next overly insightful comment might spontaneously turn me into a woman. I think Whitey’s sheer masculinity may have previously held her at bay.”

“Her?” Peter was struggling to keep a straight face, so at least that goal was accomplished.

“Apparently. Gender reassignment is all the rage since Kaitlyn Jenner did it.”

[[You bitch. An outrageous lie is a poor revenge for the painful truth.]]

Peter placed a palm on Wade’s cheek and used it to turn his face sideways towards him. “I saw what you did there.”

“Yeah?” Wade wasn’t giving an inch.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. . .” he assured earnestly. “I think I mostly understand anyway. But you’ve gotta know that I don’t want you to hide when we’re together. Now that I know that there are options for more, I won’t be satisfied by taking you from behind. I want to be the one folding you over and staring at your face while I pound your greedy hole. That sounds super hot to me.”

Wade’s eyes went wide, but Peter’s hand on his cheek literally held his gaze. He still wasn’t expecting it when Peter leaned in and kissed his lips tenderly.

[[This fool’s in love with us. It’s the only explanation crazy enough to make any sense.]]

[♪♬ Wise men saaay, only fools rush innn, but I can’t heeelp, falling in love with you. ♪♬]

It was lonely and scary whenever one or both of the boxes went dark, so it was a rush of relief that had Wade grinning goofily at Petey, a fragile happiness building in his chest. “Aaaand he’s back! Goodbye Crazytown, hello King of Rock-n-Roll.” Then he imitated Elvis with, “Thank you very much!” 

Peter yawned right in Wade’s face, ending with a sleepy smile. “Great. . . Now if everyone’s midnight crises are over, let’s go back to bed. I’ve got school and work tomorrow, and it’s gonna be hard to get through it all with this throbbing memory of you lodged up my ass.”

Then he flopped back on the mattress. Normally, Wade would wait a day or two after a bad nightmare before trying again, but sleep had never looked so tempting. So he spooned up behind Spidey and wrapped an arm across his ribs, and just enjoyed the feeling of using his hideous freak body to protect and pleasure this gorgeous, incredible hero. 

[Hey! What’s going on? What happened, where was I? I can’t remember a fucking thing after pounding Spidey into the mattress! Which, I have to say, full marks for achievement and skill!]

[[A brief summary: While you checked out, we fell in love with Peter Parker.]]

[Inconceivable! We’ve loved Spidey forever.]

“I see what just happened there,” Wade murmured into Peter’s nape as they both drifted off to sleep. 

Yellow lulled quietly in the background. [[Rest in peace Scarface, Noface, Freddy K, Skinny Bones, Frank Stein, Stitch Lips, Fly, Stumpy Sr and Jr, Elephant Man. . . ]]

! ^_^ !

Wade just didn’t sleep much generally, so three hours later he was awake again. He watched Peter sleep for a miraculous twenty minutes before his mind started wandering irredeemably off course. Staring at Peter’s closed eyes and slightly parted lips, he ran his fingers over the remembered welts from Peter’s earlier mistreatment, pushing at the healed skin to revisit the exhilarating pain. Eventually he graduated to tweaking his own nipples, then twisting, hard. Finally, he was touching himself over his jeans and about to go too far.

[[Get up before we end up getting off all over his hot sleeping bod. We can totally get permission and do this for real next time. My Peter’s cool like that.]]

[He’s not gonna like that we left. He might even prefer the violation.]

On that sick note, Wade rolled carefully out of bed. Spidey was just as zonked out as last time and it was easy to dress and gear up. He even wrote a note by lamplight: 

‘Baby boy: Last night was fantastic, u’re a fantasy come true. Hope u’re not too sore, but also hope u can still feel me deep inside ;) Had to leave, in case jerking off while u sleep is not ok. I don’t sleep much, so should discuss. Any time u want a next time, drop me a line. DP’

That evening Deadpool was watching M*A*S*H reruns when he received a terrifying text. ((Come to my aunt’s house on sat))

[Have you lost your senses completely?! He’s a human, you’re a mermaid!]

[[Good one, who doesn’t love the Little Mermaid?]]

He typed back, ((NO. BAD IDEA. Not the kind u take home))

A minute later, Deadpool received an even worse message. ((That’s for me to decide. I know aunt will like u))

((STILL NO. TERRIBLE IDEA. Parent types always h8 me!!!))

Then came the dreaded phone call and Deadpool almost let it go to voicemail, knowing it wouldn’t go well. “Hey, hot stuff. How’s it hanging? Pink, pretty, and to the left? My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

“Don’t even start with that, Pool! You know what I’m calling about,” replied the tinny voice and Deadpool’s heart sunk. Spidey was already upset with him and the conversation had just begun. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask that my boyfriend meet my only surviving family member.”

[He called us his boyfriend!]

The new designation gave Deadpool a thrill, but meeting the family was still a big no-no. He wouldn’t stay “the boyfriend” for very long once Aunty got a look at his unsightly mug. “Uh, don’t you think it’s kinda premature? I mean, the mercenary clause of our contract doesn’t even come into effect until three months in! What’re you gonna do, introduce me as your contract killer sugar daddy?” 

Spidey replied in a lower, almost threatening tone, “Interesting that you should bring that up, cuz I had to go back to Stark Tower today to discuss you, and our relationship. I had to listen to Cap and Stark say terrible things about you for almost an hour, complete with names of victims and pictures of the carnage you’ve left in your wake!”

[[This is it, it’s over. I knew it was too good to last.]] 

Deadpool’s heart plummeted the rest of the way until it was lodged in his left boot, and the sharp disappointment threatened to strangle him. Lawrence Olivier himself couldn’t have put on a better performance as he answered indifferently, “Mostly accurate, I imagine. Stark usually has good intel. I’m sorry if reality bites as hard as the movie claims, but most of those assholes deserved to die horrible deaths.”

There was an ominous moment of silence before Spidey continued in a softer, more hurt voice, “They also said some pretty disgusting things about your motivations towards me.” 

[Captain America and Iron Man found out our Machiavellian plan to get pussy whipped by a hot young stud?! They are good!]

[[I always thought that plan particularly farfetched, and yet it does appear to be the only thing we’ve actually accomplished in the last weeks.]]

Deadpool struggled to imagine what selfish, awful motivations could be attributed to his recent infatuation, then he offered up what he could to live down to expectations. “I dunno, maybe they’re right about those too. I’m wacked in the head, and we both know it. The contents of my spank bank are probably enough to certify me a sexual predator, and you feature pretty heavily these days. There’s a lot of dirty, wrong things I want to do to you, and with you. And I can’t always be trusted to know the line between kinky and not okay.”

Spidey sighed into the phone. “They aren’t worried about sexual corruption, Wade. Though Stark was kinda skeezy in his interest.”

[Yummm, sexual corruption. Okay, new fantasy to fit the updated situation: Heteronormative Spidey rails against our sexual deviance and wants nothing to do with us. We seduce him anyway with our unrestrained sexual magnetism and he succumbs to our sexual depravity against his will, maybe even cries in shame as we defile his eager, traitorous body. Bonus points for using of each of the hot button words!]

[[Keep focused on the conversation, Deadpool!]]

“Deadpool? Are you still there?”

Pool forced himself away from the delicious distraction, back to the chasm of depression that currently loomed over everything. It took a moment to recall Spidey’s last words, but it was easy to fall back into the fatalistic melancholy, “I’m still here. . . But I’m not so deluded to believe that my, uh, unrestrained sexual magnetism could corrupt anything other than your, uh, heteronormative sexuality. You’re, like, the most consistent and righteous hero I’ve ever known, right up there with Captain America. So if you want me to admit to their specific accusations, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me. Cuz I’m drawing a blank here.” 

“I don’t want you to admit to it! I don’t even want to repeat some of what they said, it’s so offensive! To both of us.” Spidey sounded angry and now Deadpool was curious as to what exactly the two Avengers had said to get the younger man so worked up.

[[Don’t follow that thought, that way be dragons! ASK PETER WHAT HE WANTS!]]

It sounded like good advice, so Deadpool struggled to sound as earnest as he felt, “What do you want then? I’m super into you, Peter, you’ve gotta see that. I’ll literally do anything you want me to, even if that means leaving you alone.”

Peter inhaled sharply, and Wade speculated that it sounded more promising than the sigh had. “I want you to come visit my aunt. I get why you don’t want to, and I realize that it’s kinda early to be meeting the folks. But Cap and Iron Man, as pretentious as they are, they’re basically my mentors, and I usually respect their opinions. Listening to all that shit today. . . it really freaked me out. They made this thing between us look all, like, sinister and sordid. And they were so damn convincing that now I’m doubting my own judgment. Cuz I’m into you too, Wade, so much that I know I’m not being objective here. So I want you to meet my aunt, because I trust her and she’s a good judge of character. I think she’ll see the same good things I see in you.” 

Spidey had explained himself well, bringing their argument back to the original issue; but Deadpool was still stuck with the original problem and hearing it all laid out so plainly was heartbreaking. Wade blinked back stinging tears as he broke the truth to Peter, “She won’t like me, Peter. I’m telling you right now, this isn’t a test I can pass. ”

“Wade, I swear to God, you will pass just by showing up,” Spidey cajoled. “Please agree to this. You just said you’d do anything for me, and I’ve certainly done some things outside of my comfort zone for you. This is what I need to feel comfortable with us.”

[[Well shit. Spidey’s really bringing out the big guns now.]]

[Big guns! Where?]

“Okay, you win. I’ll go meet your aunt. Just don’t be surprised if she detests me even more than Cap and Stark combined. All she’s gonna see is a twisted freak rubbing his nastiness all over her baby boy.” 

Spidey was silent for a beat before gently teasing, voice soft with affection, “I thought I was your baby boy, to rub off on as you see fit.”

[Fangirl scream: we love you, Spideeey!]

The words and their delivery were so perfect that they physically hurt. Any flare of hope felt like the height of masochism, as all this would soon be over when Deadpool faced judgment from the dreaded Aunt May. 

“For as long as you’ll let me keep you,” he whispered into the phone with aching honesty. 

He hung up before the swelling pain ripped out of his chest like an Alien from the movie.

[[At least there’s one horror we’ve been spared.]]

His phone screamed at him, indicating a text message. There was an address in Queens, followed by, ((Sat @ 4pm sharp. No heavy artillery plz!))

[[At least that way we’ll be unlikely to go on a distraught killing spree after we leave in disgrace.]]

Wade reluctantly typed in his confirmation, ((I’ll be there))

((Thank u))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Disturbing thoughts, panic attack, moderate pain infliction.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

Sitting on the stoop outside of Aunt May’s, Peter anxiously watched his boyfriend’s approach. In what was probably a failed attempt at subtlety, Deadpool had paired his black sweats with his black hoodie. A soft mask and black gloves complete the ensemble, if also garnered strange looks from everyone he passed. Deadpool ignored them with his usual apathy for social norms, swaggering up to Peter precisely on time. 

“Hey, Spidey-babe.”

Peter stood, then leaned in for a quick, kinda awkward kiss through the mask. “Thanks for coming.”

“No biggie.” Pool shrugged with an imitation calm that Peter was sure he didn’t feel.

Peter brushed their fingers together, trying to connect over the distance that had sprung up. “It is to me. And it’s okay if it is for you too.”

Deadpool nodded, but didn’t say anything, which was probably indication enough of his own unease. After a moment of indecision, Peter pushed on, “My aunt. . . she doesn’t know anything about Spiderman. So, uh, can we avoid that topic?”

Now Deadpool tilted his head to study Peter. “Somehow, I doubt that'll be the source of the fireworks this afternoon.”

“I know, it’s just. . .,” Peter trailed off hesitantly. “If you go in like that, she’s definitely going to question you about the mask. If you go in without, she’s probably too polite to ask you anything directly.” 

Deadpool shrugged and looked away again. “I won’t flip my shit over any uncomfortable questions, pinkie promise. I’ve been grilled by the family before, no one ever died that would’ve stayed dead.”

Peter studied the profile of the unreadable mask for a moment longer, wishing he was looking at Wade’s exceptional face instead. They were clearly both nervous, and apparently too defensive to draw strength from each other right now. Peter felt a flash of guilt for basically forcing the mercenary into this, but he was also desperately grateful that he’d agreed. The picture Rogers and Stark had painted of Deadpool had been intensely upsetting, and though its power had faded somewhat over the last two days, he still needed some reassurance that he wasn’t making a colossal mistake. He didn’t actually believe that he was being duped, or manipulated for anything (except possibly for earth shattering sex); but he was terrified of the possibility that he was falling for a psychopath who needed constant careful handling, and who’d never really love him back. Wade’s presence today went a long distance towards reassuring him, and he was tentatively confident that Aunt May would validate what he saw and felt for the damaged man. Really, it was the blinding light of his hope that made the situation so nerve racking. 

“Okay, enough stressing out about this. Let’s go.” Peter grabbed Pool’s hand tightly and pulled him up the stairs of the brownstone. “My aunt really is a nice lady, and she’s probably been watching us navel gaze on her stoop.”

Peter had a key, but he knocked anyway, and his aunt opened the door suspiciously quickly. Her eyes widened as they took in Deadpool, before flickering over to Peter. 

“Hi, Aunt May,” Peter greeted sheepishly. He’d told her he would probably bring a friend who needed a home cooked meal, but that wasn’t much preparation for a character like Deadpool. 

“Peter, sweetie,” May started, leaning in for a hug. “You look nice.”

Pool glanced over at him, as if only then realizing that casual slacks and a blazer weren’t his usual attire. “Yeah, Petey, all that business casual makes me wish I had a job to give you.”

Peter blushed, more at the audience than the strange complement (was that innuendo?). “Aunt May, this is my boyfriend, Wade Wilson. Wade, this is May Parker.” 

Moving a little mechanically, as though trying not to fidget, Wade held out a gloved hand, which May shook even as her expression read bewilderment. “Wade. Pleasure to meet you. Peter has told me absolutely nothing about you.”

Wade was silent long enough that Peter worried that he was going to have an episode before they even got through the door, but then he replied, “He knows I like to make my own impressions. You, however, he has said nothing but flattering things about.”

Aunt May gestured them both in, leading them towards the kitchen. “Do tell. After a certain age, the compliments don’t come as frequently as they used to. Not that this one was ever very demonstrative.”

Taking up the rear, Peter reached out gratefully and trailed fingers down Wade’s mid back. Wade didn’t react as he replied to his aunt, “He’s said that you raised him with love and care, and that he trusts you. And also that you are an excellent judge of character.” 

“That’s a pretty telling thing to say, especially since Peter is a pretty good judge of character himself. Please, sit.” Aunt May gestured at kitchen table before retrieving a bottle of wine from the fridge. “So, Wade, are you in need of my judgment?”  
Peter tried to glare at his aunt as he and Wade took a seat, but she was much more interested in his boyfriend. 

“I am. Apparently it’s hard to date someone with so many detractors.” Wade was leaning casually back in his seat, but had pulled up close enough to the table to be respectful. 

May poured three glasses of white wine on the counter. “Is it because you’re one of these so-called superheroes? Is that why you wear the mask?”

“Um, I’m not sure –” Peter tried to interrupt, as this was not the slow ramp up he’d been hoping for, but a combat boot nailed him in the ankle and Peter’s jaw snapped shut.

“Not really. Though I do work with them sometimes. The mask is cuz I have this gnarly skin cancer, and I’d rather be stared at for being who I choose to be, than for being a walking disease.”

May nodded, placing a glass in front of each with a sympathetic frown. “Are you dying?”

“Auntie!” Peter exclaimed in mild outrage, elbows on the table. Surely that wasn’t ever something to ask someone you’d just met!

“Yes, Peter?” his aunt replied with sugary sweet sarcasm. “You don’t think I should know if you’re gonna be put through that kind of suffering and loss again?”

“It’s fine,” Wade replied, with the military calm that he occasionally displayed, though he had crossed his arms defensively over his wide chest. “No, I’m not dying. My healthy cells are successfully fighting and replacing the cancer cells, just not permanently. So my skin's a constant battleground. And basically looks the part.”

“That sounds painful,” May commiserated. Peter took the alcohol he rarely touched and downed half the glass, this was as nerve racking as watching MJ bomb an audition! 

“It is,” Wade shrugged. “But I’m used to it.”

“So will you be eating with us?” May asked, eying the wine that he hadn’t touched. “I made lasagna, it just needs to sit for a few minutes.”

Wade’s head twitched perceptibly, but he continued on, “I wouldn’t miss it. I just don’t drink, it doesn’t do much for me.”

“Mmm. I suppose drinking would interfere with your fitness regime anyway. Which looks to be quite. . . thorough.”

Peter dropped his face into his palms. Wasn’t this supposed to be Wade’s interrogation? Peter felt like he was the one being tortured. Still, he didn’t miss Pool raise his arms in a bodybuilding pose, then flex for May’s benefit. “Thanks. Peter appreciates my assets too, so I can see where he gets his good tastes.”

“Which brings me to you, Peter. Since when are you gay? Or however you’re identifying these days?” 

Hot in the face, Peter looked up to see May studying him and that Deadpool had turned so completely to face him that he knew the other man had to be smirking under his mask. “Uuum. Well, I guess that I have always had, uh, interest in both men and women. I just didn’t see much incentive to get involved with a guy until Wade, errr, pursued me relentlessly.”

Then May’s focus was back on Pool. “Yes, I imagine that was tough, Peter can be pretty block-headed when it comes to romance and relationships.”

“Hey!,” Peter objected, just on principle. 

“You must’ve been quite convincing,” May finished.

Wade gave a self-depreciating shrug, still managing his cool as a cucumber act. “I knew what I wanted, so I went after it. He did say no the first dozen times I asked him out, but I eventually won him over with my aggressive flirting and charming personality.” 

Frankly, Peter was impressed that Deadpool was presenting as well as he was, but he also felt guilty that he was hiding so much of his self. He knew that the real Wade would only have associated himself with the term “charming personality” through the thickest of dripping sarcasm; Peter could practically hear the delivery in this head. 

On impulse he reached out and placed a hand on Wade’s bicep. With a gentle squeeze, he agreed baldly, “You do have a charming personality,” then turning to his aunt, “and there was definitely some aggressive flirting.” 

Aunt May smiled happily at them both, then served them all some homemade lasagna and a hearty salad. Peter strategically asked after his aunt’s welfare, keeping attention there as Wade folded his mask up past his mouth, past his nose and eyes to rest around his skull like a cap. After that, he removed his gloves. May looked, of course, but only for a couple of seconds, and the conversation never faltered. When Peter finally caught Wade’s gaze, he seemed okay, if less animated than usual as he talked daytime television with his aunt. Predictably, they were both passionate fans of Golden Girls.

They all enjoyed the delicious food (“The secret is Italian sausage instead of beef, dear.” ), and Round Two didn’t begin until Wade and Peter were almost finished with their second large portions of lasagna. Peter and his aunt had also had two glasses of wine each.

“How old are you?,” May threw out there after a slight lull in conversation.

Wade swallowed his food half-chewed, with unnatural manners, and met her gaze. “Thirty-six.”

“Peter is only twenty. That’s a big age difference,” she commented soberly. 

“I know.” Then his eyes did drop.

“You don’t think it gives you an unfair advantage in this relationship?”

“No,” Peter stated, though he had wondered the same thing a couple times. Other times it was obvious that Peter was the one in a position of power.

Wade frowned deeply, appearing to consider the question for a long moment. “No, I don’t think I have an advantage in our, uh, relationship,” Wade replied, using the term for the first time. “As I see it, Peter has almost all the advantages. I may be older, and richer, I guess, but I’m not wiser. Definitely not as smart or educated, I didn’t even graduate high school. Obviously not as good looking. What you may not know is that he also has more inner strength, bravery, and moral character than I do.” Wade turned towards Peter, “Most of the time, It’s hard to imagine what he sees in me at all.” 

Perhaps deliberately, his words revealed the real reason that he was at a disadvantage in their relationship: poor self-confidence. Peter ached for him then, and assured with a smile, “Well, I believe we’ve already identified your charming personality, your perseverance, and, of course, your assets.”

Then Peter followed the impulse to lean over and plant a chaste kiss on Wade’s lips. “But we haven’t mentioned your sense of humor, your stone cold endurance, or your selflessness.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Wade murmured breathlessly, and tugged Peter’s shirt to bring their lips back together for longer, slightly wet kiss. 

“Okay boys, enough with the show,” Aunt May interrupted. “You’ve convinced me of your feelings for each other.”

Peter pulled back, sporting a sappy grin and flushed cheeks, only to be struck with how amazing it was to actually be able see Wade smile back, not just know it was happening behind the mask. As was frequently the case, seeing Deadpool exposed made his dick a little hard, and Peter was suddenly eager to get him alone. Almost as if reading his mind, his aunt asked, “Do you want to show Wade your old room while I clean up?” 

“Sure,” Peter agreed with false disinterest. He took Wade’s hand in the hallway and had to force himself not to thunder up the stairs, his strangely silent boyfriend in tow. “It’s just up here. I only moved out a couple years ago, so it’s not like a childhood shrine or anything.”

Peter led the way, and then locked the door behind Wade. The mercenary was scanning the room as he reached up with both hand to fold down his mask, but Peter was quick to cover those hands and still the movement. “Don’t, it’s just us now.”

Hands laced together on either side of Wade’s face, and Peter pulled him into a deep kiss, long and wet and intimate and perfect. Fuck Iron Man and Captain fucking America, Peter thought with a surge of arousal. What he really wanted to do was sit Wade down on his childhood bed, and get intimate with Wade’s fat cock. Then, what the hell, he told that much to Wade. 

“That’s hot as hell, but I can tell when you’re not serious,” Wade smirked. “You’re using your dom voice.”

Peter was completely gob smacked, mouth hanging open, and Wade started laughing at him. They sorta kissed when Wade brought their open mouths together, and then they were making out again. 

“Thank you for coming here,” Peter said softly, honestly, when they finally broke apart. “Aunt May definitely liked you, I could tell. I knew she would, I just needed proof. It was weak of me to doubt.”

Wade rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Peter. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t have doubts about me, I have doubts about me. The real miracle here is that your aunt is a cool broad, and that there’s no one else left to despise me. Forget doubting, we were sure we wouldn’t be passing this hurdle. ”

Peter adored the slip that let him glimpse his Deadpool, and suggested, “Let’s finish up here and go back to your place.” 

“In a sec. How many times am I gonna get a first glance at your inner sanctum?” Wade teased with obvious innuendo, even as he moved away, crossing the room. Peter watched him peruse his books and look through his desk drawers, open his closet and touch his bedspread. On the nightstand was a picture of Uncle Ben, which Wade picked up for a closer look. 

“What happened to your uncle?”

Of course Peter had planned to tell him, had even vaguely figured out how to explain, but now that the time was here, he felt worse than he thought he would. He and May mentioned Ben from time to time, but he hadn’t had to talk about his death in a couple years. He came to stand by Wade, and took the picture from his hands with reverence. “After I got bitten, there was a time in which I used my powers for my own ends, and wasn’t really interested in making the world a better place. One day, I let a criminal run right by me and did nothing, because it wasn’t my problem, because I didn’t give a shit. Later that day, the same man killed my Uncle Ben.”

Wade was silent when Peter looked up at him, but the young man wasn’t done anyways, “It’s why I became Spiderman, to atone. Because that asshat is who I really am, not some great hero. I’m the man whose laziness and indifference killed his father figure. I must be better than that now, cuz as my uncle said, with great power comes great responsibility. . . I need to honor him by protecting others.”

“You do, Peter,” Wade assured, reaching out to stroke a hand though the brown hair. “You are a hero, even if you’re not perfect. You’re young, but someday you’re gonna be known as one of the best.”

“Oh yeah? Are you gonna be my sidekick?,” Peter asked, making a conscious effort not to get caught up in the fog of the past.

“More like Consort to the Spider King,” Wade responded immediately, clearly having already worked out this fantasy. 

“That sounds kinda sexy,” Peter teased reflexively, unsure whether it was or not. It probably could be, with Wade. 

“Doesn’t it though?” the mercenary mused. “You could web me all up, hang me helpless from the ceiling, then get your fangs in all the right places.”

“Are you done snooping yet? I want to take you home and show you how I really feel, all this sharing is making my dick hard.”

“Why, Peter!” Wade replied in mock scandal. “I think I might be rubbing off on you, and I don’t just mean on your ripped abs. . ." Then he dropped the act, and his voice plummeted, "But don’t get me wrong, let’s totally go fuck.”

They gave their most gracious thanks and farewells to May, who sent them away knowingly with a blueberry pie, then Deadpool sprang for a cab in the name of expediency, paying a hefty tip in advance for the right to privacy. After some heavy petting, Peter pealed his mouth free to murmur his power bid in Wade’s ear, “This time I want to script the scene.” 

“Oh, yeah? What do you want to do?” Wade whispered so languidly as to sound obscene.

Peter slid his hand down to lightly palm the substantial erection tenting Wade’s sweats. “I want to worship your big cock,” he annunciated deliberately. “I’ve never sucked a dick before, did you know? Never even seen one up close, except my own. I’d like to learn on yours, if you’ll let me. Learn to suck cock, I mean.”

Wade moaned quietly, rubbing into Peter’s touch. “You’re gonna take to it like a pro, I can tell. You’re good at everything you put your mind to.”

“Probably.” Peter’s hand slid a little lower to caress Wade’s balls. “Afterwards, when you’re all loose-limbed from cumming, I wanna do to you what you did to me. I want to fold you in half and pierce you down the middle, and stare into your eyes as I take you apart and then put you back together again.”

Wade’s limbs trembled, but his sex pulsed with blood and heat, and they both knew which guidance he would follow. The cabbie had probably driven egregiously to avoid being treated to a finale, and stopped somewhat suddenly in front of Deadpool’s building. The mercenary threw him some more money and they both hustled quickly through the lobby, to make out in the elevator, and finally get to the dingy, if at lease spacious apartment. Pool spent the first couple minutes there cleaning up the garbage and cracking some windows. 

“Sorry, sorry! Bad form I know, I just really wasn’t expecting company after today. And I’ve been a depressive wreck the last couple days.”

Peter glanced at the recliner, but he didn’t see any evidence of recent use. “Did you – ?”

“No. Not while there was any hope,” Wade called from the kitchen as he bagged the old take out containers. 

Peter eventually headed for the bedroom, and seeing no suspicious stains, other than the dubiously dirty sheets, started stripping out of his clothes. Even as he did it, he marveled at his own boldness, something he had never felt confident enough to exhibit in his previous relationships. With Wade he knew that he was desired and that his overtures would almost always meet success. That knowledge in turn seeded a heady sense of sexual freedom. He took the liberty to set the mood by flicking on the bathroom lights and letting them shine into the dark bedroom. He’d thought a lot about this, despite or maybe even because of the doubts of the last few days; he’d thought about how he could communicate his feelings in the language they spoke best, to express himself in a way Wade could accept. 

When he entered, Wade took in the dark room for only a second before getting with the program. Soon he too was naked and standing at parade rest before Peter. “Where do you want me?”

“On your back, legs spread.” 

Wade obeyed, though not without snarking, “Yes, my mistress.”

Despite the scars and bumps, Peter was reminded of Michelangelo’s David, all perfect physique on display. Still, his backtalk couldn’t go unpunished, “Is that cum all over the sheets? You must abuse yourself an awful lot, you naughty boy.”

Wade looked up at him wantonly. “All the time. I’m haunted constantly by perverted thoughts of you, and since you’re not here to punish me, I usually give into temptation.”

Peter dropped to all fours, crawling like a spider into the gap between Wade’s long, bent legs, then higher so that he could lay on Wade and kiss him. “I said I want to worship your big cock, and I mean it.” He bumped their heated pricks together as he asked, “What’s our safe word?”

Wade arched up in to him hard, panting, “Does it matter? I’ll never use one.”

Peter wrapped his fingers around Wade’s swollen cock with enough force to border on painful and for Wade’s body to jerk in his hand, then he continued sternly, in what Wade probably thought of as his dom voice, “It matters because I don’t want any attempts to mock or interrupt my ardent devotion, am I clear?” 

Wade nodded, a little wide eyed, “Crystal.”

Peter loosened his grip, caressing the appendage lightly in apology. “Unless you need to tap out, and just in case I’d like a safe word.”

Wade's eyes dropped away. “You’re the one that might need to tap out. No one freaks out from receiving a blow job, unless there’s serious biting involved. Meanwhile, the last person that tried to go down on me, like, literally projectile vomited all over me, and my dick. It was quite the mood killer, so back off if Ol’ Reliable starts making you queasy.”

Peter rested his hand on Wade’s cock, and smiled affectionately as he assured, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about sucking you? The way you’ve played keep away just makes me want to get my mouth on that fat cock even more. I’m definitely not going to puke on you or Ol’ Reliable. I swear.”

Wade squirmed under his touch, and met his gaze again to vow solemnly, “And there’s nothing you could do to me to make me safe word. Nothing. You have my full blanket consent.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Peter scolded mildly, squeezing the meaty dick again and making Wade grunt. “It’s not all safe, sane, and consensual.” 

Wade looked at him as if he were nuts. “Do I look either safe or sane to you?”

Peter’s breath came a little faster, arousal tinged with apprehension, and doubt arose as his mind rushed through a great array of possibilities. He forced his fingers to ease their grip and he trailed his hands up Wade’s broad chest. After quick consideration he admitted, “I can’t promise you the same thing.”

Wade’s eyes met his, filled with amusement, “You shouldn’t, and I don’t want you to. One of us has to be the safe, sane, responsible one.”

Mind reeling from the implications of their conversation, Peter took a deep, steadying breath, trying to find the courage and commitment to follow through with the plan he’d formulated for tonight. He still thought it was just crazy enough to work, just crazy enough for them. So Peter trailed his fingers gently down Wade’s face, closing his eyes and brushing softly over his lips, “Okay then. Just lay back and enjoy. . . No interrupting, soldier.”

When Wade stilled on the mattress, Peter stretched over the firm body and planted a wet kiss at the base of his ear. Wade smelled like baby lotion and lasagna and musk, and Peter nosed that heady scent as he whispered reverently, “♪♬ My lover’s got humor. . . ♪♬”

Wade tensed a little, but otherwise did not react, allowing Peter to trail his tongue down his neck, tasting the uneven skin until he reached the first swell of his pecs, still hoping, gambling, committing to this gambit. “♪♬ He’s the giggle at a funeral. . . ♪♬ “

Peter raised up then, so that each hand could grope a hard breast, thumbs seeking and finding nipples that hardened readily at his touch; he crooned softly, “♪♬ Knows everybody’s disapproval . . . ♪♬”

Wade looked kinda blissed out until Peter twisted the nubs sharply, then pulled them roughly away from his chest, causing Wade’s entire body to stutter up against his. “Fuck, we love this song.”

Of course Deadpool would, being a giant drama queen, Peter smirked to himself, newly optimistic that Wade would get into this and help him pull it off. After all, he was doing this for Wade, not himself, and there was no point if it didn’t convey his intent, his words, his feelings.

He leaned down to murmur around one pert nipple, “♪♬ I should’ve worshipped him sooner. . . ♪♬” then suckle it, only to eventually leave the nub wet and chilling in the evening air. “♪♬ ‘We were born sick,’ you heard them say it . . . ♪♬” Then he took the other nipple lightly between his teeth, causing Wade to moan even as Peter’s lips moved around the tight flesh, “♪♬ My church offers no absolutes . . . ♪♬”

Eventually satisfied with his work there, Peter mouthed wetly down the scarred, sculpted abs, his own weight resting on Wade’s sturdy frame. “♪♬ Tells me ‘worship in the bedroom’. . . ♪♬” Then Peter licked suggestively into the dip of Wade’s belly button, and his soft voice warbled, “♪♬ The only heaven I’ll be sent to. . . ♪♬”

Peter drug his naked chest and neck across Wade’s cock as he shimmied lower, until finally the large, eager length brushed against his cheek. He looked straight at it to make his quiet confession, “♪♬ Is when I’m alone with you . . . ♪♬”

Then Peter took hold of the fat cock and stroked it for a moment, getting a good, close look at the engorged, knobby flesh. Perhaps the faint light from the bathroom was particularly flattering, but Peter thought the mighty cock had personality: strong and proud and battle tested. Nope, still not going to throw up, Peter thought, amused at his own eagerness for this activity. He was no great singer, but he raised his voice a little to croon more confidently, “♪♬ I was born sick, but I love it. Command me to be well. . . ♪♬” 

Then he stuffed the cock in his mouth in a totally unscientific way, sucking and slurping even as he took it as far as he could, which wasn’t all that far. Peter experimented with bobbing up and down and almost immediately the cockhead bumped against the back of his throat and his throat constricted violently, forcing him to back off for a second before coming right back for more.

“Oh, Spidey,” Wade whined breathlessly, holding his body still with obvious difficulty.” You’re literally gagging for it. . . You’re so perfect for me, I can barely believe you’re real sometimes.” 

Peter glanced up, the dick still held between his lips, and caught sight of Wade watching him in enthralled wonder. His managed to smirk around the hefty organ, then got back to pleasuring it, sucking and licking to the sound of Wade’s happy mumblings, “Yes, suck my cock just like that. . . You’re so good to me, baby boy, so good.”

He improved quickly, liking the way Wade’s huge cock felt in his mouth; delicate and sensitive, but also demanding and choking, as though Peter was both carnally powerful and at the mighty Deadpool’s sexual service. He could feel the rough scars and growths on his lips and tongue, and he wondered if the friction of sucking and fucking hurt. The salty sweet hint of ejaculate teased him until finally he pulled off completely and held the cock to his lips to paint them with spit and precum. 

“Fuuuck, that’s the hottest shit I’ve ever seen!”

Peter gave his best wolf grin, making deliberate eye contact with a captivated Wade even as he hovered over the spit slick prick. “♪♬ That looks tasty. ♪♬” 

Then Peter dove down and ran his tongue from the thick base up to the red cockhead, where he positioned himself like a singer at a microphone. ’“♪♬ That looks plenty. ♪♬” 

He circled his tongue around the ridge, then licked into the sensitive slit. When he was done, he immediately exclaimed, struggling to keep a straight face, “♪♬ This is hungry work! ♪♬”

“Yes! ♪♬ Take me to church! ♪♬” Wade belted out loudly as Peter went down on him again. Peter choked a little, mostly in laughter, but then he managed some steady suction and Wade followed up with a quieter, heartfelt moan, “♪♬ Aaa-men. Ameeen. ♪♬”

Peter tried his hand at multitasking and roughly fondled the wrinkled testicles, which Wade seemed to enjoy. It didn’t take much longer for Peter to note the shift as the other man started to lose control. Wade’s hips writhed with less restraint, occasionally bucking up so that Peter had to hold them down. His hands, which had been so obediently held at his sides, drifted up to Peter’s shoulders and neck, only to be sent back to purgatory on the bed; until Peter took one of those large hands that he liked so much and placed it on the back of his skull. Wade, thankfully, didn’t try to direct Peter’s movements, but just laced his fingers through Peter’s hair and helped him establish a fast, relatively shallow rhythm. Peter’s jaw was aching at this point, but it didn’t matter, Wade was so close, he could tell. He still hadn’t resolved the ongoing debate with himself, should he try to swallow?

Wade’s hips jerked up, and Peter was spared the decision as the hand on his head actually pulled him off roughly by the hair. His indignant exclamation, “Hey!”, was cut off by the sight of Wade’s naked, muscular body arching high off the mattress, which Peter barely registered before hot ropes of cum splashed shockingly across his lips and face and neck. Peter’s mouth dropped open for several seconds, the surprise of it all doing nothing for the conflict between arousal and disgust. He did, of course, still have to lightly tongue the substance on his lips, finding that it tasted mostly as expected.

Wade chuckled weakly at him, a goofy, lazy smile on his face, limbs loose and body relaxed from orgasm. “I think I like your shocked expression even more than I like how you look painted with my cum.”

Peter took revenge for that statement by reaching over for Wade’s discarded sweats and using them to wipe off. Not that Wade cared in the slightest. He watched Peter’s movements languidly, commenting, “That was both talented and inspired, A plus plus. The house is impressed. Whitey adored the soundtrack, and even Yellow approved of the song selection. And, believe me, that bitch is pick-y.”

“And what did YOU think?” Peter asked, tossing the pants away as he lay next to his boyfriend. “You’re the audience I’m trying to please.”

Wade pulled him closer, so that their lips were almost touching. “I loved it. You can serenade me any time. . . In fact, next time I’m requesting Doin’ It by my man LL Cool J.”

“Hmmm. . . Maybe that’s coming up next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for extra cheese. Too cheesy? Did it work? PLEASE REVIEW!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, you probably don't need the sex warning.

They made out for a few minutes and Wade thoroughly enjoyed the taste of his seed on Peter’s lips, as well as the feel and anticipation of the hot dick nestled up to his own soft, cooling one. When they eventually broke for air, Peter rolled away and got up. “Gotta wash my face.”

[Spidey likes to see us dirty and cum-smeared, not so much himself =(]

[[So his kinkiness is moderated by a sense of cleanliness. We should take heed. This bed is nasty.]]

Wade shrugged to himself, then turned on the room light in order to strip the bed and tuck the mostly unused top sheet around it. He figured that he’d have to buy a new mattress soon anyway, if this thing with Spidey continued (which, against all odds, was looking probable). His amazing, smart, heroic, perfect boyfriend deserved to lay and fuck on a bed that was not irredeemably stained with cum, sweat, blood, and food. 

The sound of wood knocking together came from the bathroom, and Wade turned to see Peter easing his full length mirror through the door. He immediately felt his nakedness acutely, even without seeing his reflection, and stepped away from the bed (possibly closer to the door). He tried to sound indifferent with his quick question, “What the hell are you doing with that?” 

[[Holy fuck. Peter is an evil genius. . . You know we’ll look like a total pussy if we kill the lights right now.]]

Peter carried it easily to the wall nearest the bed, and propped it up with a moment’s consideration for positioning. Finally, in his own sweet time, he turned to Wade with a taunting look. “It’s not too late to pick a safe word.”

The implications sent a wave of pure terror through his body, triggering anxiety and adrenaline but somehow still electrifying his traitorous dick. Still, Wade wasn’t about to let a challenge go unmatched, “I’ll choose a safe word if you really want. But in return, I challenge you to make me use it.”

[I liked Spidey’s idea better, but torture can be hot too. I guess. If Spidey’s involved.]

Peter took a moment to parse the words, then frowned deeply. “Definitely not.”

“Then I don’t need or want one,” Wade repeated stubbornly, despite the position this was putting him in regarding the dreaded mirror. He refused to show weakness, though the muscles throughout his body had bunched tightly as he unconsciously shifted into a combat stance.

Peter must’ve read his posture, because he asked warily, “So then you’re down with the mirror?”

[[No, Peter, we’re really not.]]

For an intense moment they gazed at each other across the room. Without breaking eye contact Wade admitted in a rough, low voice, “You’re gonna have to force me to watch. If that’s what you want.”

This time Wade saw Peter’s eyes flicker down to his junk. “You’re getting hard just talking about this. I think you do want this, even if it terrifies you.”

[Damn, thems be fighting words!]

“Prove it.” Then Wade reached out to kill the overhead lights and it was Game On. 

It took Wade longer for his eyesight to adapt to the dimmer light from the bathroom, while Spidey was already leaping into spidery action. He jumped and rebounded off the wall to land with a roll between Pool and the door. Crossing his arms across his chest, he menaced a little ridiculously, “I hope you weren’t thinking of going anywhere.”

Pool flashed a grin and bolted for the window on the other side of the bed. He was fast and strong, but Spidey was faster and stronger, and tackled the larger man to the mattress with an honest-to-god flying leap. Pool tried to elbow him in the face, in token resistance, but Spidey easily twisted his arm behind his back, wrenching his shoulder with a welcome burn. Pool bucked up violently, trying to throw his captor, but also slapping their naked bodies together a couple times before Spidey managed to wrestle Pool to the mattress. Several seconds of fast tussling left Pool with both arms restrained behind his back and his prick digging into the bed, as Spidey pressed up between his bare cheeks. 

“Take down,” Spidey mouthed into his ear, rolling the front of his body all along the back length of Pool’s. “Do you concede?” 

Pool arched his spine, face buried in bedding even as he pushed back on the hot length branding his ass. “Never.”

Spidey let go of one hand, and though Pool immediately resumed his mock struggle, he was not able to stop that hand from wrapping over Pool’s forehead and yanking his head up, and back. His strength might have caused serious injury to someone else, but it just held Wade completely immobilized, staring involuntarily at their joint reflection in the mirror. It was a relief to note that their positions displayed much more of Peter than himself. Peter’s powerful, compact form pinned his larger one to the mattress, straddling his ass and pulling his head up like some Renaissance monster slayer holding up his kill. 

[[Don’t be melodramatic. Think more gay porn retelling of Beauty and the Beast.]]

[I love that movie, sounds hot to me.]

Wade was dazed, mesmerized by the both beloved and reviled sight, the Amazing hero Spiderman and the Infamous creep Deadpool. He face planted in the mattress when Peter released his forehead, and he immediately ground his leaking erection into the bedding. Peter chose that moment to roll off of him, giving Wade a choice that was made for him when a steadying hand landed on his mid back, and then another on the crease where his left leg met his buttocks. Wade wanted this more than he wanted to struggle, so he tucked his head low in submission and let his legs fall open. “I concede.”

[Spidey makes us his bitch! I ADORE this fantasy!] 

Peter’s hand slid in between his cheeks, fingers dragging down his cleft until two rested on his dry, closed pucker. Peter rubbed around the contracted muscle, applying light pressure until just the tip of his pointer slipped in, stopped almost immediately by the powerful resistance. 

“You’re so tight,” Peter murmured, sounding almost awed. “I’m glad you didn’t prepare yourself this time.”

[[Don’t say it, fool. Peter doesn’t want that.]]

He couldn’t help it, Wade offered into the mattress, “You can fuck me like this, if you want.”

[Spidey spreads our cheeks apart and forces his way in, impaling us on his cock, ripping us open as he pursues his pleasure. It hurts like hell, and Spidey keeps fucking roughly into the healing wound even as we mend around the invading length. Then our hole is just sore and aching, and slick with blood, and the pain is finally muted enough to be delectable. When we eventually cum, after a long, punishing pounding, our entire body feels blissfully numb except for the sharp stinging of our abused hole.]

[[That’s not a fantasy, Whitey, you imbecile! That’s just a recasting of our first time with Cable!]] 

“Why would I want to do that?” Peter asked distractedly, and Wade was temped then to look at the mirror to confirm his suspicions. Peter was almost definitely watching his finger disappear into Wade’s tight hole. The idea of being fucked dry was enough to elicit a thrill of fear and a stuttered, helpless thrust into the mattress.

He did turn his head slightly then, just to get air. “I can recount Whitey’s entire fantasy if you want, but the short answer is so we don’t have to wait.”

[[Stupid.]]

Peter carefully circled his finger inside his dry, vulnerable orifice, and the rough feeling shot straight to Wade’s cock. Peter leaned closer, to ask over his shoulder, “Wait for what? For you to be ready?”

[We were born ready.]

Wade adjusted his position, moving his elbows under him to prop his chest and shoulders up, then dropped his head low and spread his legs in invitation. His voice was a little bitter as he parodied himself, “I’m always ready, anything, anytime, anywhere.”

[[More stupid.]]

Peter’s voice was laced heavily with skepticism, twisting his finger carefully against the high friction, “Are you honestly saying that you’d rather I force my dick into this deathgrip dry, probably injuring us both, rather than enjoy the luxury of being fingered and loosened with lube before I finally slide on in?”

[As much as I like rough sex, I definitely vote for being fingered, and then slid into like a slip ‘n’ slide.]

[[I’m with the horndog on this one. Enough with this stubborn, self-flagellation bullshit.]]

Then Peter leaned way over Wade, reaching for something beside the bed with one hand still hooked into his entrance, his movements pulling at the rim and making Wade moan quietly. Wade’s doesn’t even try to answer his question, but Peter won’t accept his silence, demanding, “I want you to ask for it.”

“Fuck me now,” Wade stated immediately, if somewhat mechanically, his body bracing as if for a blow.

[[Aaand the stupid train just keeps going.]] 

“Nooo,” Peter corrected a little condescendingly, dry finger stinging a little as it prodded forward threateningly. “I want you to ask me to wait.”

Wade’s chest constricted with reflexive anxiety, and he didn’t even need Yellow to interpret: he was afraid to ask for consideration that he’d never been granted before. He took a couple steadying breaths and intentionally relaxed against the small intrusion that he couldn’t help but be hyper aware of; then he bucked back on it, deliberately and hard, like he was playing chicken with himself. With a quiet grunt of pain, he opened the gates and freed his vulnerability, begging in a small, fragile rasp, “Please wait.”

Peter held his finger mercifully still inside Wade, free hand soothing down his back like he was gentling a wild animal. Wade’s entire body was trembling slightly. 

Peter followed up bluntly with the leading question, “Why?”

Head still bent low, Wade splayed his legs further, bending at the knees to raise his ass up in offering, in direct contradiction to his quiet, inexplicably humiliating confession, “I’m not ready.”

[[Finally, the naked fucking Truth.]]

After a beat, Peter eased his finger out, though dry even that was uncomfortable. Wade’s body really only started to relax when he heard the sound of Peter opening the lube.

“I’m glad you told me, Wade,” Peter replied calmly. “Cuz I take care of things that belong to me.” Then the fingers were back, wet and slick and probing, free hand holding his cheeks apart. “So let’s get you ready.” Two digits pushed firmly but gently at his hole, and like magic Wade opened up for him, moaning needily. Peter screwed gently in and out until the muscle was loosened and lubricated enough that he could plunge in. 

“It’s your choice this time, but I wish you’d look up. I’d really like to see your expression when I do this.” Fingers curled and prodded his prostate, and Wade cried out as he hunched over. His head remained stubbornly tucked into the mattress. “Not that you don’t look hot like this,” Peter continued without a hint of disappointment. “All big shoulders and bent neck like a mighty beast of burden. Can I get a line?”

“♪♬ I’ll never be your beast of burden ♪♬,” Wade groaned as Peter shoved back into his wet hole. “♪♬ My back is broad but it’s a hurtin’. ♪♬”

“Thank you,” Peter replied, fingers switching to a scissoring, stretching movement. “But back to the point. You look sexy like this too. Like a bull or a stallion, something with a lot of upper body strength, a thick neck, and a huge cock.” 

Wade laughed weakly, feeling like a puppet with fingers up its rear. “Stop it. You’re not going to convince me to look at that shit.”

“What shit? Me pleasuring my lover?” Peter crammed a third finger in with that question and Wade groaned as he shoved back into it, bending his splayed legs further to prop his ass up wantonly. “Preparing him to be penetrated by my cock?” Peter gave him barely any time to adjust before all three fingers were carefully twisting in and out. “Trusting him to tell me when he’s ready or not?”

[Our pussy is so wet now.]

The words triggered a confused swell of positive emotions that was too much to process beyond his throbbing cock and, “Fuck, yes, Peter! I’m so ready.”

“Up on your hands and knees,” Peter ordered, pulling his fingers free as Wade quickly complied. The mirror was so close in this position, it was a constant effort not to glance up. Peter stroked a hand up his flank and gently groped the firm glutes. “Your ass looks amazing like this. You like getting fucked this way, don’t you? Mounted like a big, dumb animal?”

Wade rocked greedily into the touch, failing to bite back the words, “Fuck yes. Ride me hard and put me away wet.”

Peter shifted so that he was right behind Wade, then gripped his thighs and rubbed that hot cock between Wade’s cheeks, cockhead dribbling over the twitching hole. “Is that really what you want?” Peter taunted tenderly. “Taken from behind, in the dark, so I don’t have to see who I’m fucking? You could put your bodysuit back on, and then we can go back to pretending that you’re just a nameless, faceless hole to cum in.”

[Yes!]

Wade whimpered pathetically at the words and ground back against Peter, torn between helpless arousal and an awful, hurt emotion that flooded his body with a tingling sensitivity. 

[[Tread cautiously, Peter. You’re on dangerous ground with this.]]

“Shhh,” Peter gentled, one hand stroking down Wade’s back as the other positioned his blunt cock at Wade’s clenching entrance. “A glory hole doesn’t complain, it shuts up and takes dick,” Peter’s cock pressed against Wade’s rim, “after dick,” then pressed again, “after dick.”

[[Be careful with us, we’re not as invulnerable as we seem.]]

[Yes! Yes! Yes! All the dicks! All at once!]

Then Peter pushed his cockhead past Wade’s quivering ring and into his quaking body, slowly but all the way to the hilt and eliciting a broken wail from Wade. He gave Wade a moment to adjust, but his hole was already loose and ready, despite trembling limbs that suggested otherwise. Wade’s cock pulsed eagerly where it hung low and full between his legs. 

Peter pulled out slowly, so that just the ridge of his cockhead nestled inside Wade, and then eased all the way back in. “Do you like that, Deadpool? Being an anonymous cum bucket for a parade of uncaring cocks that literally can’t differentiate between a real life sex ninja and a lifeless sex doll?”

[Hell yes, bring on the gang bang! Just fuck and fuck and fuck until there’s nothing left of us but a hole forever being filled to the brim! We’ll never be empty or alone again!]

Wade’s body could act without direction, rocking back into the wonderful, stretching intrusion, but his mind was such a mess of sensation and feeling that he struggled for the right answer. “I dunno, maybe?” he mewled pitifully, horror joining the emotional maelstrom as he realized that tears had pooled in the corner of his eyes. 

[[Peter. . . Don’t you see what you’re doing to us? We’re breaking.]]

“Wrong answer,” Peter scolded gently, stilling deep inside the larger man. “I don’t share what’s mine.” 

Wade bit off the sob that escaped at Peter words, and Peter’s hands stroked down his quivering haunches. Peter circled his hips, cock teasing Wade’s hole as he continued, “So if you’re nothing but a glory hole, then you’re MY glory hole. And if you’re mine, well, I’m not going to be satisfied with just your sloppy opening to rut in. I’m gonna need the full package, with all the accessories.” 

Peter pulled out a fraction, only to thrust in sharply, punctuating his words. “Like a name I can use to call you.” Thrust. “And a unique face I can use to find you.” Thrust. “And a strong body that I can use however I want.” Thrust. “And, of course, I’m gonna need full access,” thrust, “to your big, insatiable cock,” thrust, “on call day and night, for when I want to get fucked.” 

[[Thank you, thank you, thank you.]]

Peter thrust in harder the last time, ramming his prostate, and Wade cried out loudly, his balls tightening in anticipation of climax. But then Peter abruptly pulled out, leaving Wade’s hole desperately empty, his cock swollen and throbbing, and his head spinning. “Wha –?”

“Turn over,” Peter instructed, guiding Wade’s lust-clumsy body to lie on his back, with the mirror to the side. Next Peter lubed himself up, and Wade’s hand automatically moved to his own hard on as he watched. Then Peter shifted between Wade’s legs, hoisting his thighs up and back, knees all the way to his ears and calves hooked over each of Peter’s shoulders. Wade barely spared a thought for the contorted position, much more concerned with further penetration.

“You’ve got amazing legs,” Peter murmured as he dragged his lips from Wade’s ankle, down his calf to his knee, then his hand stroked the rest of the way down the long limb to rest on the rounded buttocks. “They went on forever in that slutty dress.”

[That’s what I always say! Thanks, Spidey!]

“And people say I’m the crazy one,” Wade chuckled breathlessly, arching greedily into Peter. 

Peter thumbed his entrance open and he ordered, “Wade, look at me.” Wade obeyed without question, captivated by the tenderness in Peter’s eyes and the gentle smile on those perfect lips. Then Peter pushed his cock into Wade’s bent body and they both groaned in bone deep satisfaction.

Peter didn’t have as much weight to crush Wade with, but he tried his best. He pushed Wade’s legs as far back as he could, folding him completely so that he could fuse their panting lips together as he pistoned into Wade’s constricted hole. After a few clumsy seconds he had to break off for air, swearing, “Oh, shit, Wade! You’re so tight like this.” 

[♪♬ Like a virgin, touched for the very first time! ♪♬. . . I’ve always wanted the opportunity to use that song, but we’re so shameless that it rarely applies. Thank you again, Spidey!] 

Wade could barely breathe, bent in half, speared through his core, and weighed down by all that was Peter. His cock bounced and dribbled on Peter’s abs, to the deep, punishing rhythm of his ass getting hammered. It did feel tighter, like Peter’s cock could barely fit, like that cock was filling up every last inch of him. When Peter purposely caught his gaze again, it felt like every last bit of him was Peter’s. 

“It’s all yours, if you want it,” Wade gasped, getting fucked too thoroughly to speak any other way.

“What is?” Peter asked breathlessly, plowing back in.

Slam. “Uh! As much as you want.” 

Slam. “Uh! The hole, the cock, the crazy.” [[I’m in favor.]] [Me too!] 

Slam. “Uh! We basically love you.”

Slam and hold. Peter laid all his weight on him, buried so deep and bending Wade so far back that Peter can mouth his ear, “Basically?”

“Yeah,” came the strangled reply.

“Then look.” With that, Peter leaned back on his heels, letting Wade unfurl to a more sustainable ninety degrees. The shifting movements jostled the cock in his ass, and his rim spasmed pleasurably around the intrusion. Peter wrapped a loose grip around Wade’s neglected erection and stroked slowly. 

Peter caught Wade’s gaze and held it, expression serious and powerful, face red and sweaty from exertion. Wade felt such a strong swell of emotion, of love and gratitude, that he could not, would not look away. After a long, intense moment, Peter let go of Wade’s cock and reached out to wrap his fingers gently, yet securely around the base of Wade’s skull, thumb hooking over his ear and palm cradling his jaw. Gentle pressure tried to ease Wade’s head to the side, towards the dreaded mirror, but his body felt like iron, heavy and unbendable, forged around the hot poker enflaming his hole. The hand’s pressure grew firmer, then stronger, until his neck muscles burned; then inhumanly strong, until finally, the iron bent and Wade's head turned to the side.

He couldn’t help but look at the abomination: gorgeous, perfect Peter looming over the big, hideous Deadpool like David over a felled Goliath. Except that the faint light was forgiving, and Wade could only dimly see the texture of their skins. Much clearer were their dark outlines: Peter’s lean gymnast’s body gracefully undulating into the curled collection of bulging muscles and long limbs that was Wade.

[We look fucking hot.] 

[[We are fucking hot.]]

“Wade! See how beautifully you take my dick!”

“Uuunnngh!” Wade groaned loudly as a wave of pleasure and happiness flooded through him, pinned to the mattress by the hand on his jaw and the cock rocking into his ass. He couldn’t help but clench against Peter, and then both of them were rutting urgently into each other, harder and harder as they chased their climax. Peter leaned back a little, easing the pressure on Wade’s hole, so that he could again grab Wade’s dripping cock. Peter jacked him roughly as he slammed into Wade once, twice, a half dozen times before Wade was hurling off the edge, clenching and cumming so hard that his vision blacked out, everything blacked out. There was just, “Petey!” 

When Wade tuned back into awareness moments later, Peter had sped up, inhumanly strong as he jackhammered into Wade’s now slack and loose, but still sensitive orifice. The force of his thrusts scooted both of them across the mattress, until finally he shouted, “Wade!” and buried in deeply one last time. The great flood of wet heat within forced a last fantastic dribble of cum from Wade’s cock; then with a content, drained sigh, he wrapped his arms around Peter’s suddenly slack form. He could tolerate the growing discomfort in his bent hips and back for a time, as he held Peter close until he finally stirred. Wade helped him pull out, cum dribbling tthrough his distended rim, and then he painfully straightened his crooked body. The boxes were blissfully silent for a short period.

“I know I say this every time, but that was the best sex of my life,” Peter muttered, immediately cuddling up to Wade’s body, despite the jizz smeared everywhere, and nestling his face into Wade’s sweaty shoulder. Wade was grateful for the close contact, feeling sated and blissfully drained of ugliness, but also exposed and vulnerable and a little like he wanted to cry. Peter had said and done some pretty intense, fucked up shit to him. Who woulda thought he had it in him?

“You’re trembling,” Peter noted with concern, craning up to peer at Wade.

“I’m okay, better than okay,” Wade replied reflexively, tightening his arm around Peter’s shoulder. Was this what catharsis felt like? “I’m just blown away. . . I’ve, uh, never had sex that, uh, intense before. But it was incredible, for sure. I feel like I’m coming down from some great high or something.” Then he bent his arm up to run a hand through Peter’s soft hair, gently guiding his head back down to his shoulder. “The things you do to me, Peter Parker. . .” 

Peter trailed fingers down Wade’s chest and abs for long minutes, soothing and just being close, until finally the powerful body calmed and stilled. Wade pressed a chaste kiss to Peter’s forehead, and he let his eyes close as a powerful fatigue took him over. They dozed quietly for some time, until Wade assumed Peter had passed out. But then Peter broke the silence with some kind of meaningful proclamation, clearly confident that Wade was awake, “All of it.”

“All of what?” Wade yawned, not quite putting it together.

“I’ll take any and all of yourself that you’ll give me. Cuz I love you too. I, just, wanted to show you how I felt before I said it. I wasn’t sure you’d believe just the words.”

[HOLY SHIT!]

Wade was suddenly wide awake. In his cum haze he’d forgotten about his own endorphin-fueled confession, and now Peter was making his own stone cold sober declaration. He felt a brief stab of fear, and asked hesitantly, “I’m not. . . hallucinating, am I?”  
Peter planted a kiss on his collarbone. “See anything other than two kinky fuckers falling in love?”

[[Well said, boo.]]

“Well fuck me sideways. Looks like my vision is perfect for once."


	17. Epilogue

THREE WEEKS LATER:

Of course Deadpool waited until he was patrolling with Spidey to drop the bomb, hidden behind his battle mask. “I’m going away for a while. Probably bout a week.”

Spidey turned to him to demand unhappily, “Where? Why?”

“It’s a gig for SHIELD, so classified I barely know anything,” Pool said quickly, signally the beginning of a (likely nerve induced) manic babble. “I thought that’d be more acceptable than my usual fare. But the kind of jobs they recruit me for, um, usually require a lot of killing. And dying. . . This one time SHIELD left me to get caught in Warsaw. After the baddies got me, they tortured me, cut me to pieces, and then dumped me in a garbage bin. Then I woke up being compacted in the garbage truck, and immediately died again! Nightmares for months!”

Spidey grabbed his gloved hand and squeezed. “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement of SHIELD.” After a moment he grudgingly admitted, “It hasn’t been three months yet. You don’t have to run your jobs by me.”

Deadpool shrugged. “I’m willing to start early. If . . .”

Spidey dropped his hand and crossed his arms across his chest, preparing for another negotiation. There was a lot of them in their relationship. “If what?”

“If you move in with me,” Deadpool started strongly, but didn’t wait very long before continuing manically, “I know it’s, like, way too early, but you’d totally have your own room! And it’ll save you a buttload of dineros. . . It’s just that you’re so busy all the time doing really important stuff, which I totally get, but I have a lot of free time and most days I don’t get to see you at all. If I just passed you in the doorway, or we shared breakfast, or fucked when you had a spare moment, that would be enough of your time to, like, get me by.”

Peter frowned under his mask. Wade was saying a lot here, and it was infuriating that he had deliberately chosen this inappropriate setting. Peter was busy, and could generally only make time for Wade ever three or four days. He knew it was not enough, from the way Wade craved his attention, from the way that neither of them could keep their hands off of the other. He wished he didn’t have so many obligations, cuz he wanted them to spend more time together too. 

The idea of moving in with Wade, however, was more than a little scary, for a number of reasons, not the least of which, “Pool, I hate your place. You’ve killed yourself in there more times than you can count. No way.” 

After a pause, Deadpool’s second bid was much lower, “I lease the apartment next door too. You can do whatever you want with it, fill it with shit, whatever. You could just, like, let me hang out there sometimes when you’re around. . . I, uh, talk to myself less on days that I see you.”

Even with the mask, Peter could read the pleading in his voice, the defensiveness in his stance. He thought of all the effort Deadpool had put into this: lining up the SHIELD job to add pressure, selecting a tactical location for negotiations, and then putting himself out there, not once but twice, asking for what he wanted – asking for what he needed, just like Peter was trying to train him to do. How could Peter say no to that? While not exactly high maintenance in the traditional sense, of course Wade would need more attention, any kind of attention. He did seem to talk to his boxes less recently, and there had definitely been fewer panic attacks. His concerns about Pool’s habits and ways, and about timing, seemed to pale in comparison. 

“How about we both move into the other apartment? On a trial basis. I’ll still keep my place for a while, just in case. And the Lay-Z-Boy of Death is not welcome.”

“Anything you want,” Pool gushed, lurching forward to wrap Spidey in a powerful bear hug. After a long moment he brokee the closeness by grabbing two handfuls of spandex-clad ass and joking, “Spiderman and Deadpool. It’ll be the hottest homo team up since Captain America and the Winter Soldier.”

Spidey laughed as he shoved Pool away, hard. “I’m not playing that one! I know those people!”

Pool jockeyed right back up to him. “So what about the SHIELD gig?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Peter was more of a black and white kind of guy, but everything was shades of gray when it came to Deadpool. Plus, the older man needed something to keep him occupied or all the attention in the world wouldn’t be enough. The expression about idle hands was practically inspired by the mercenary. “I guess you gotta take some jobs, right? And this is one of the less dubious ones?”

Pool nodded, so Spidey reluctantly conceded, “Do what you have to.” Then he reached for the cherished, costumed face, and drew their foreheads together so that he could convey intimacy without eye contact. “But you come back to me in one piece, you hear? You belong to me, even when you’re on your own reconnaissance. So you better take care of what’s mine.”

Spidey stroked down the tough material of the mask, and Pool tilted into the touch. “’As you wish.’”

“Careful. You almost sound romantic quoting the Princess Bride.”

Pool shrugged, peeling Spidey’s hand off his face so that he could hold it tight. “Let’s go back to yours and get freaky. I can be Westley, all floppy and paralyzed from the water torture. You, of course, can be Princess Buttercup.”

“Of course,” Spidey snarked. But actually, that sounded pretty hot to him too. 

“It’s already taking effect, my legs feel weak,” Pool uttered melodramatically, placing the back of his free hand on his forehead in a mock swoon. “You’re gonna have to give me a Spideyback ride.”

Peter rolled his eyes even as he grinned at the predictable request. “Hop on, Poolboy.”

! ^_^ !

The move to the neighboring apartment was pretty simple, as Peter only owned a little bit more than Deadpool. He had a bed, dresser, and desk for his room, but the only furniture he had to contribute to the communal areas was a TV stand, a better table, and four matching chairs. When Pool showed up with a pickup to help him move, Peter had only given him a little bit of shit about “borrowing” it from the neighbor that had heckled them that one time.

That first afternoon in the new apartment, as Peter was unpacking his computer and clothes, Deadpool strategically strolled past his door several times, loudly singing Akon’s Lonely in the original chipmunk voice and giving Peter a good glimpse at what sharing space with him was going to entail. He hadn’t realized that Wade actually hung out in his leathers a lot of the time, even when alone and at home. That was going to have to change.

Finally, Peter called after the retreating form, “You can come in, you know. The door’s open for a reason.”

Deadpool immediately turned on his heel and approached, entering the room cautiously, only to lean on the wall next to the door and not say anything. He was particularly hard to read behind the leather mask, so Peter started the conversation with, “Any chance you can repair the hole you blew in the wall?” 

Pool shrugged. “Probably. But that’s an alternate escape route. Your anonymity may protect you, but I’ve been raided a couple times by men with machine guns. So put your desk in front of it or something.”

“Great. That might’ve been nice to know before moving in,” Peter snarked as he hung a couple items in the closet. 

“Sorry, didn’t think much of it. Someone’s always trying to kill me.”

“I imagine that’ll happen less now that you’re more selective about your jobs.”

“Maybe,” Pool replied, not sounding at all convinced. After a moment watching Peter put away some more clothes, he continued, “I ordered a couch, so we can watch the telly. Should be here by then end of the week.”

Peter frowned as he dumped his undergarments in a drawer. “How much did it cost?”

“Who gives a fuck?” came Pool’s indifferent reply. “Whitey gets what Whitey wants.” 

Now Peter did stop to look at the other man. “I do. Since I’m gonna pay for my half of it.”

“Why would you do that?” Pool dismissed. “I couldn’t care less about accounting, I literally have more money than I know what to do with.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Peter explained a little pedantically. “You’re already leasing the whole floor. If I’m going to be an equal partner in our life together, then I need to pay my own way as much as I can.”

Deadpool was quiet for a moment, arms crossing defensively. “That doesn’t sound very equal to me. You’re the smart, cute, normal one, all insightful and reasonable and shit, while I basically run around like a headless chicken all the time. Outside of fucking, money is, like, the only asset I bring to a relationship.” He stumbled over that last word but kept going more quietly, “If I can’t spend it on us, what’m I supposed to contribute to this so-called life together?”

Certain of his position and distracted by unpacking, Peter failed to pick up on the verbal cues and instead brushed off Pool’s worries, turning to the last of his clothes. “We don’t need to spend lots of money to be together. I’m not with you for your assets, that’s just your low self esteem talking.”

Deadpool pushed away from the wall, getting pissed and demanding Peter’s full attention with a raised voice, “Nooo, you asshole. This is me trying to replace the recliner you hate so much with something better for us. But that recliner is my Throne of goddamn Solitude, and I’m comfortable there. So if you really want to contribute to the purchase, then you’ll come sit with me on the big ass couch when it comes, and maybe indulge my fantasy of blowing each other during our favorite shows. Cuz otherwise, I’d rather not have a couch and be alone on my Throne.”

Then, channeling his inner teenager, Deadpool stomped out of Peter’s room, combat boots particularly effective against the wood floor. A moment later Peter heard a door slam and he sighed. Okay, so Wade’s words made him feel a little guilty, but Peter was pretty sure that he was right in trying to pay his way as much as he could. After a minute to gather his thoughts, he followed Pool to his room. 

“Wade? Let’s talk about this.” Peter knocked, but there was no response, and after a moment he twisted the doorknob open. Not only was there no Wade, but there was no bed, only a couple of boxes. Peter had noted the television, the table, and some kitchen items in the communal area, and so had assumed that Deadpool had already moved in. Now he wasn’t sure what to think, except that there was some growing gap in communication between them. Peter decided not to take the “escape route” and instead left through the front door to go knock at the neighboring apartment. 

“It’s open,” came Deadpool’s reply and Peter was relieved that he had not left the building entirely. Inside the bare, dingy apartment, Pool was reclining on his Lay-Z-Boy and hurling throwing stars at the ceiling. Was that something he usually kept in his belt? 

“Hey,” Peter greeted as he approached, but Deadpool only flung another star, completing the gruesome smiley face he’d made amid the blood splatter. When he looked to keep going, Peter covered his hand and took the projectile. Deadpool’s head tilted towards him then, watching as Peter dropped the star to the floor and then climbed into Pool’s lap, despite his distaste for the awful recliner. Pool tilted the chair up a little to better balance their weights and positions.

For a couple seconds they just stared at each other, before Peter asked, “Can I take off the hood? If we’re gonna fight about money like a married couple, then I’d like to see your face.”

Pool tilted his head sharply, giving Peter access to the neck band, and then allowed him to peel it off with minor difficulty. Peter had no idea how the other man could stand to wear it so often, it had to be hot and restrictive and downright uncomfortable. He was now familiar enough with the motley face that he could identify the red irritation and pressure marks from the mask. 

“There you are,” Peter murmured, tracing fingers lightly down the heated cheek. 

Wade refused to meet his eyes and admitted quietly, “I don’t want to fight with you.”

Peter shrugged. “It happens. I’m sure we’ll get through it.”

Wade did look up then. “I’d spend all my money on you, if I knew what to buy. I’d give you everything I have, but I know you won’t take it. I just want you to be happy with me.”

Peter leaned their foreheads together. “I know, Wade. And you do make me happy, just by being you. But being financially independent. . . that’s something I need to do to be happy with myself.” 

They just enjoyed the silence and closeness for a moment, before Wade offered a quiet compromise, “If spending your limited cash will make you feel better, then how bout you buy something else for the apartment? As you might’ve noticed from this place, I’m crap at the whole decorating and furnishing thing. I’m sure we need more shit, but I’ve got no ideas beyond a couch.”

“You mean, to make it look more like a home?” 

Wade wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling him closer and shifting his head to hide in the crook of the younger man’s neck. Peter always seemed to know just what to say to unearth the tender, vulnerable emotions that were buried deep under all the anger, the studied indifference, the blunt humor. He pressed his muffled answer into Peter’s skin, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

Peter really liked seeing Wade’s soft underbelly, and so did his dick, which is his only explanation for saying, “I’d love to blow you on the new couch when it arrives.”

Wade’s thick gloves migrated south until they rested on the pert globes of Peter’s ass, then pulled Peter forward to rub his semi against the rough red leather covering Wade’s abs. The sensation had Peter’s eyelids dropping to half mast, but it was not enough to block out the reddish brown staining right in front of his eyes. When he pulled back and sat up in Wade’s lap, the stain actually looked like a gruesome halo around Wade’s face. “Do you really think of this horrible thing as your, what’d you call it, throne of solitude?”

Wade brought his hands together between them and peeled off the stiff gloves. “Sure. I love this chair, there’s no place better to be alone.”

Peter struggled to understand, but he didn’t get very far. “But you’ve killed yourself in it however many times. Surely those are bad associations?” 

Wade shrugged dramatically, watching his scarred fingers walk up Peter’s shirt, then trace across his chest to dip between his lightly defined pecs. He seemed almost hypnotized, and when he answered, he seemed mostly unaffected by the subject matter, “Not really. . . I find it comforting, maybe cuz I’ve done a lot more living in this chair than dying. Sleeping, eating, jerking off, watching more telly than anyone should admit to. . . The chair doesn’t make me feel better exactly, but it does make me feel better about suiciding. It holds my pieces when I fall apart, and then holds me when I come back together. On the Throne of Solitude, it’s okay to be alone.”

His words sounded almost poetic, and Peter was touched. He hooked his fingers around each of Wade’s ears, palming his jaw and tilting his head up so that he could bring their lips together in a kiss both gentle and deep. When they finally broke apart, mouths wet and shiny, Peter assured, “You’re not alone anymore.”

Wade nuzzled their noses together, eyes closed contentedly. “I know.”

Peter knew any number of people who’d label him crazy for the thought, but he couldn’t help thinking how attractive the other man looked like this, peaceful and mostly happy for once. He’d do almost anything to see more of that Wade. “You can move the recliner into our apartment if you’re really that attached to it. I can live with it if it’s part of you.”

Wade smiled beatifically, but shook his head. “I don’t need it anymore. I’m trading in the bachelor’s throne for the couple’s couch.”

“If you help me with your chastity suit, I’ll help you give this thing a proper bachelor’s send off,” Peter offered, running a suggestive finger between Wade’s pecs, down to his abs.

Wade cocked an amused eyebrow at him, even as his fingers went to the buckles on his shoulder. Peter opened the opposite clasp, but then they both had to get up to wrestle the tight leathers from his body. It took more than a minute and Peter had to comment, “This is why I expect to see a lot less of this suit while we’re home together.”

“Noted.”

It was the first time they had reversed the more familiar role, with Wade naked and Peter clothed, and the afternoon light hid nothing. Peter didn’t give the other man time to think about such things. He lightly pushed him into the recliner, and he fell back willingly, legs splayed in a relaxed sitting position as he offered up his mostly soft prick. Peter wasn’t surprised, he knew Wade found these emotional conversations taxing, even as Peter sometimes treated them like foreplay. It was a heady feeling, to be the more emotionally sophisticated one for once. 

Peter kneeled immediately, eager to inspect this rarity before it transformed completely. The cock was still long, but definitely not as thick; the scars were not as angry, and the other irregularities not as pronounced. He lifted the prick gently, turned on by the delicate skin and the fascinating feel of the soft little nubs and ridges swirling around it. It wasn’t so much a monster as a workhorse at rest, and Peter suspected that this new familiarity would forever erase the monster label. He would’ve loved to take his time exploring more thoroughly, but the cock was swelling quickly, and he absolutely wanted to experience the soft member between his lips. 

Wade groaned in appreciation as Peter’s wet mouth fully engulfed him, taking him in in a way that Peter wasn’t capable of when Wade was completely hard. Peter suckled the member like a baby pulling a teat, drawing it to the back of his mouth and back massaging the pliable flesh with his tongue. The cock felt vulnerable in his mouth, even as it swelled to a more impressive size, and it combined with the intoxicating smell of musk and leather to push Peter to reach into his own sweats. 

“Just like that, baby boy,” Wade encouraged throatily. “Keep touching yourself. You like sucking my cock, don’t you?” 

Peter moaned his agreement, and the vibrations had Wade groaning and arching up into the wet heat. A large hand wrapped around the back of Peter’s head, holding him in place so that Wade could carefully, slowly fuck into his eager mouth hole. Whether it was the face fucking or the care taken, the new experience had precum surging from Peter’s own dick and his hand picked up speed. Wade’s cock was fully hard now, and his fingers rubbed Peter’s scalp even as Wade took his own pleasure. Spit dribbled from the corner of Peter’s lips as he struggled to accommodate his full size, convinced that with enough practice he’d be able to deep throat the entire engorged length. When he inevitably choked around the intrusion, Wade pulled him off. 

“Bring that sinful mouth here,” Wade growled, sprawled confidently in the grimy recliner like he was actually a king on a throne. Peter scrambled into his lap, too turned on to care about all the suicides he was ghosting through, and fused their hungry lips together. 

Wade immediately reached into his sweats and brought their two cocks together, easily wrapping his big hand around them both. Peter inhaled sharply, surprised at just how erotic it felt to press up against that hot, meaty cock; so that after a couple minutes, Peter had to break their heated liplock to see what felt so amazing. Wade’s fat cock and his large fist dwarfed Peter’s own dick, despite its respectable size. This may have intimidated some men, but Peter had always found Wade’s size to be masculine and arousing. He liked how easily the man could manhandle him and, potentially, some day, dominate him. 

The thought of Wade using his size to have his smutty, sordid way with Peter was too much; almost without warning, he was groaning loudly and shooting cum up Wade’s chest, all the way to his neck. Wade soon released his newly sensitive prick, then wiped his hand through Peter’s warm release, using it as lube as he went back to jacking himself, harder and faster now that it was just him. Peter watched with lazy interest as Wade pulled violently on Ol’ Reliable until it was deep red and angry-looking; then with a throaty cry, he too came, spilling on Peter’s shirt and soft cock. 

Wade yanked Peter down to him, pressing their messes together as he licked into the younger man’s mouth. After a long, thorough of possession of the orifice, Wade broke away and leaned the recliner all the way back. 

“Mmm. . . Mind-blowing, as always,” Wade murmured lazily, helping Peter rearrange himself so that he could lie down too, half wedged beside and half draped on top of the larger man. Peter curled his arm across Wade’s chiseled abs. 

After a moment, Peter replied with a modicum more thought, “Sometimes it feels like I never really had sex until we started up.”

Wade grunted in amusement, eyes closed peacefully and hand petting down Peter’s back. “I’m sure you had plenty of sex with your old girlfriends, baby boy. You just never fucked. Big dif.”

They lay like that for a while, basking in each other and the warm light of late afternoon. Finally, Peter asked the question that had been on his mind since he’d seen Wade’s room in their apartment. “So where are you sleeping tonight?”

They were pressed too close together for Peter to miss the sudden tension in Wade’s body, even as he tried to mask it with an exaggerated shrug. “Dunno, haven’t decided.” 

“Do you need help moving your mattress?” Peter ventured, though he knew Wade was perfectly capable of hauling it over himself. 

There was a pause before Wade answered warily, “A new one is being delivered tomorrow, with, like, a frame and shit.”

Peter frowned slightly. “Any other purchases I should be aware of?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Not that your mattress isn’t gross too, cuz it totally is, but what inspired you to get a new bed?”

Wade hesitated even longer before answering. “Yellow thought you might sleep over some time.” Then he qualified, speaking fast in a way that Peter had come to recognize as signifying nerves, “You know, like after we fuck, if you’re too wiped out to go back to your room.”

Peter propped himself up on an elbow so he could look at Wade, Wade’s hand stilling on the small of Peter’s back. “Are you saying I can only sleep over if we fuck first?” he asked so pointedly that Wade was almost positive that he was being teased. 

“Of course not,” Wade replied, purposely looking at the wall instead of Peter. “You can sleep in my bed any time you want, even if I’m not there.”

Peter gave a solemn nod. “Good. Cuz I might want to sleep, then fuck.”

Wade jostled him in revenge. “Don’t make fun of me. We have two rooms, each with its own bed. It’s not unreasonable to think you might wanna sleep in your bed.”

Peter nosed his neck affectionately. “Well, I am gonna need my space sometimes, to do work and stuff. And given your sleep habits, I think it’s good to at least have the option of sleeping separately. But I like sharing a bed with you, and a new, clean mattress sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?” Wade asked, turning into Peter’s attentions.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Peter murmured kindly. “We’ve confessed our cheesy feelings, we fuck every chance we get, and as of today we live together. It’d be kinda dysfunctional if we didn’t sleep together.”

“I’m basically the definition of dysfunctional,” Wade argued, just to be a jerk and obviously not really objecting.

“Wade, shut up.” Peter poked him lightly in the ribs, eliciting an embellished shudder. “So are we sleeping on your nasty mattress one last time, or spending the night trying not to fall out of my tiny thing?”

“I like your tiny thing,” Wade teased, cupping Peter’s soft, sticky cock.

“Now you’re just being mean,” Peter retorted, digging into Wade’s ribs a little harder. “For that, your fat ass can balance on the edge, and I get the wall.”

“As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! PLEASE REVIEW!
> 
> But The Good News: I came to the natural end of this story and realized that there are still a couple things I want to explore further: namely Spideypool's relationship with the Avengers, and the developing power dynamics between Spidey and Pool. So check out the sequel for a little more smut and drama!  
> 


End file.
